


Not Exactly Oscar Material

by sachertortes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-10-07 21:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10369779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sachertortes/pseuds/sachertortes
Summary: Former child actress Darcy Lewis is working her way up to a successful career in romantic comedies.But now she's gearing up for her biggest and most difficult role yet - girlfriend of the famously reclusive action star, Bucky Barnes.





	1. Chapter 1

Darcy Lewis wakes up the same way many young Hollywood stars wake up – well into the afternoon, groaning with a hangover, and kicking off 500-thread count sheets. 

 

Her phone, pinging with texts and buzzing with unanswered calls, hauls her from sleep. Blindly, she reaches for the source of the nuisance on her nightstand narrowly missing a partially filled glass of water but sending her alarm clock and an issue of _Variety_ tumbling to the floor.

 

She clutches her head and waits for her vision to come in focus before squinting at her insistent phone suspiciously.

 

75 texts

18 missed calls

10 voice messages

 

What the hell? 

 

She checks her latest texts.

 

**Clint: ANSWER YOUR PHONE**

 

**Clint: DARCY WTFFFF WHAT HAVE U DONE**

 

“Shit,” Darcy hisses to herself. “Shit shit shit!”

 

What the fuck _has_ she done? She thinks back to the night before, to bleary images of the too-dark interior of a restaurant and many many glasses of wine. She had dinner with –

 

_Oh hell._

 

Her phone rings again and she hits ‘answer’ before the second ring.

 

"Oh, hey Clint, what's up?" she answers hoping to sound breezy.

 

"Darcy what the hell?! What the fuck!! Have you checked TMZ lately?"

 

In her living room, Darcy opens up her laptop and navigates to the website knowing and dreading what she’ll find.

 

**_DARCY LEWIS TASES DATE_ **

****

**_Former star of the immensely popular kids show, “Science Girls” uses stun gun on date! TMZ has obtained EXCLUSIVE footage of this attack occurring outside Saudade, the trendy Hollywood restaurant._ **

 

There is of course, the obligatory shaky vertical cell phone footage. Darcy has had mostly her whole life to get used to seeing herself through a camera lens but there is something about seeing a blurry version of oneself shoving a stun gun into a pudgy producer’s gut that is truly cringe inducing.

 

On the video, Darcy is yelling incoherently while Scooter Marshall goes down like a sack of potatoes twitching a little on the way. The valets are valiantly trying to shove the photographers away but the lights from the paparazzi cameras continue to light up the sidewalk. Darcy watches herself be quickly shoved into a waiting car and the video ends abruptly. 

 

"Ooooh, shit," Darcy breathes.

 

“Explain,” Clint says in that clipped tone he uses when he’s being serious for once.

 

She takes a deep breath. “Well, first of all it wasn’t a date. I was meeting Scooter for what I thought was a meeting about a potential movie. He said Sandra Bullock might sign on later! But that douche spent the whole night bragging about his boat to my boobs!”

 

“Ah, Christ. Girly, you are SO lucky that bastard didn’t press charges. You could be on your way to an assault charge by now!”

  
  
“He didn’t press charges because he knows I’ll tell every single news outlet about his grimy little wandering hands!” Darcy protests.

 

“So you thought you’d solve the problem with 1,000 volts?!”

  
“I wasn’t thinking, I panicked! You try thinking clearly when some jackwad slides his hand up your dress!”

 

“That slimy fucker.” Clint’s voice is laden with disgust. “Listen we’re gonna do damage control but first we have to figure out how big this thing is. I’ll take care of that, call around, make some inquires," Clint says in a smooth, reassuring tone. Darcy smiles.

 

"Yeah?" she asks, voice small.

 

"Of course, kiddo. You sit tight. Don't worry this will all blow over."

 

But Darcy does worry when Clint still hasn't called her back three hours later. 

 

At four o' clock Darcy wonders what it would be like to have to star in some cheesy made-for-Hallmark channel movie. Something low-budget with a stupid title like _"The Easter Fiancé Plot"_ (Starring Darcy Lewis and Jason Priestly!)

 

By five o’ clock Darcy has demoted herself to shilling cheap, tacky costume jewelry on QVC ("Only 29.99 for the whole set, and you can wear these pieces day-to-night!"). 

 

She's in the middle of stress eating an entire jar of Nutella for dinner when Clint finally calls back. She lunges for her phone and doesn't even bother with a greeting.

 

"Well?" she asks, willing her heart to stop thrumming out of her chest.

 

There's a sigh at the other end, a soft sound of some papers rustling and Darcy's heart sinks. Her career hasn’t even truly started and now it’s ending. Even the Hallmark channel is starting to sound too much to hope for.

 

"Well, it's not great but it is salvageable. Shit, I think _everyone_ has seen the damn video. The studio heard of course, and - "

 

"- oh my god. Oh my god, I'm fired, my first lead role and I'm fucking fired!" she wails.

 

"Will you let me finish?! They're not firing you, but they're unhappy. They’ve put a lot of faith in you to carry this movie and you can’t have a rom-com where the public hates the lead actress, you just can’t. It’s too late to recast which is fucking lucky, let me tell you. We’ve gotta fix this, get the word out that it wasn’t some drunken brawl –“

 

“-it wasn’t! If that person had filmed 30 seconds earlier they would’ve seen that perv grope my ass!!”

 

“-and that you were defending yourself. Look. I know, I know he’s a creepy little cretin but to the public it looks unprovoked.”

 

Darcy sinks even further into her couch cushions. Stupid shady producer, she seethes. Such a cliché but apparently some dickbag with too much testosterone can derail everything you’ve ever worked for.

 

Breathe, she tells herself. _Think._

 

“I could – I could volunteer somewhere! Like an animal shelter or something? I love dogs,” she suggests.

 

“Volunteering right after an event like this is way too transparent. Listen, I’ve been in touch with an old friend. We should meet in person, I have a great idea."

 

"Clint, remember the time you said I should audition for the reboot of _I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry_?"

 

"...I have an okay idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear from you in the comments section.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr: sachertortes.tumblr.com  
> Let's chat!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone to read and left kudos and comments on the first chapter! <3 <3 I really love hearing from you and I'm so happy to see that people liked it! :)

When Darcy is 14, her first role in a real honest-to-god film was panned and a local movie critic in Nebraska called her supporting role “grating”. And just last month her fashion choices ended up in a What Was She Thinking column for _Tom & Lorenzo_ \- that one stung, she loves _Tom & Lorenzo. _(For the record, Darcy thought her cat-print sheath dress with the side cut outs was cute as hell.) She understood that it’s just the nature of her job, there would be more to come she was sure. It was fine and she got over it.

But this feels different. Her work is so subjective. And her taking down some dude who made unwanted advances is _objectively_ justified.

After yet another night of sleeplessness, she decides she needs to hear a friendly voice. Chewing on a hangnail, Darcy opens up Skype and smiles when a familiar face appears. Jane stares back at her on the screen, all wide eyes and unruly hair.

 “Oh my god, Darcy! I heard about the –“ Jane makes a truly disturbing shoving motion with her fist, “-the thing with the guy! What happened, how are you, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” assures Darcy, who then launches into the whole sordid and sad tale. When she finally pauses to catch her breath, Jane grimaces.

 “Oh, Darcy sweetie, I’m so sorry,” Jane says picking at the sleeve of her flannel. She perks up a little, smirking mischievously. “I’m making a breakthrough on my research, you wanna lure him to Culver so I can send him through a black hole?”

“Aw, Janey. I don’t think he’d come within 100 meters of me much less follow me across the country to Virginia.”

“You want me to send Thor over there to rough him up a little?”

“Believe me as much as I’d love to see that the last thing I need is yet more violence in my life. How is he by the way?”

Jane laughs. “He’s good but the van still has a slight Thor-shaped dent in it.”

“I can’t believe you hit a pedestrian who turned out to be hot minor royalty. When I get into an accident I get a ticket. Teach me your ways, Janey.”

Jane rests her face in her hands and pretends to be in deep contemplation.

“Well, first you get on a kids show-“

“-Done,” replies Darcy playing along.

“-co-host science experiments of dubious accuracy and even more dubious safety for said kids with a very annoying and exasperating partner-“

“-I know you’re referring to yourself so I’ll let it go.”

“-then you grow up and make the questionable life decision of pursuing grad school.”

“Oof, _hard pass,_ Doc. I’m gonna move to Hollywood – swimming pools, movie stars.”

Jane smiles. “Miss you, Darce.”

“Aww, I miss you too, you beautiful dork. When are you coming for a visit?”

“Maybe summer? They’ve got me teaching more this year but at least my last grant came through.”

Darcy watches Jane’s eyes shift frequently to something off camera.

“What are you doing?” Darcy asks, suspicious.

“Nothing!” Jane answers a just a smidge too quickly.

“Jane…”

“I’m…I’m watching pornography!”

“Oh my god you are not! You’re working aren’t you? What time is it over there?”

“I’m just keeping my eye some readouts.”

Darcy glares at her.

“…and maybe also fixing this solar filter.”

“Get some sleep,” Darcy commands. “You know you get cranky when you’re on a science bender.”

“Okay, okay.” Jane no longer even bothers to hide her furious scribbles in a notebook just out of camera range.

“ _Jane.”_

Jane puts down her pen and holds up both hands to the camera in surrender.

“Alright! I’m signing off to go sleep, promise. ‘Night, Darce.”

“’Night, Jane.”

 

\------

 

Lots of Hollywood types’ ideas about a strategy lunch involves a fancy restaurant, plenty of overpriced drinks, and impossibly tiny portions of delicately arranged food served on giant white plates. And if the astronomical bill can be casually charged to the company card, all the better.

Clint comes over around noon with three bags of In N Out and two milkshakes balanced precariously on a tray.

“Please take these from me before I stain your fancy rug and your interior decorator puts me on a hitlist,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

As Darcy places the delicious smelling goods on her coffee table Clint makes his way over to her tiny kitchen. Darcy watches, aghast and a little grossed out as Clint then pours leftover cold coffee from the pot directly into his milkshake.

 “Figured you wouldn’t be up for dining al fresco considering the sharks circling your building,” he says, after downing nearly half his concoction in one long sip.

“Ugggh, they’re still out there? Must be a slow week.”

Clint takes in her dark undereye circles, greasy hair, and rumpled pajama pants.

“Let’s eat before we talk business. I’m fucking starving and no offense, kid, but you look like shit.”

They sit on the floor, eating from her trendy Scandinavian coffee table that she only bought to class her place up for a Teen Vogue photospread. After a bit, Clint settles against her sofa letting out a satisfied groan. He balls up his empty burger wrapper and chucks it into the small waste bin across the room. Darcy prods his sneakered foot with hers.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” she prompts.

When Clint tells her the plan, she promptly and somewhat violently chokes on her chocolate shake. He huffs out a laugh and claps a hand on her back.

“Remind me to make an appointment with my doctor,” she manages to sputter, wiping at watery eyes and taking the bunch of napkins Clint has shoved at her. “I think I just had a freaking auditory hallucination.”

Clint says nothing but raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Did I just hear you say that you want _me_ to pretend to be Bucky Barnes’ girlfriend? _Bucky Barnes??!”_

“You could still go to the doctor though maybe not for this,” Clint jabs smoothly.

“ _Bucky. Barnes?!”_ Darcy squawks.

“What are you trying to get him appear like Beetlejuice?”

“It’s – it’s just. He hasn’t done any work in _years._ In fact, nobody knows where he is or what he’s doing? There are rumors you know,”

“I know.”

“And..??”

“And _nothing_ , they’re just rumors.”

“So he hasn’t gone cuckoo, holed himself up in a cabin in the woods, stock piling guns and yelling at chemtrails? Or he’s not living in a yurt, growing beets and raising goats?”

“No and no. I don’t even know where you’re getting this. “

“The internet, for one. There was a poll on Buzzfeed one time. People seem to be leaning towards the yurt thing.”

“Now you and I both know the internet isn’t always a bastion of truth and hard facts.”

Darcy takes her reprimand with a grumble and a sideways glance.

“So you want me to fake date some actor who hasn’t worked in years and who may or may not be living in a yurt,” she grouses.

“I can guarantee you he’s not living in a yurt.”

“So what’s his deal? He completely disappeared after doing that cop movie – last I heard he was about to take over the Bourne movies, then bam! Radio silence and conspiracy theories abound.” Clint is ready to respond, but Darcy is on a roll. “And you know this is a completely whacked-out plan, right?! I’m mean, maybe I’d rather just take my licks and do walk-ons with whatever Kevin James is threatening to release next.”

“It’s not that crazy. It’ll change the talking points about you while still keeping your name floating around.”

“And for him? What’s in it for Mr. Mysterious? You’re not pimping me out, are you?”

“Jesus, I’m not pimping you out.” Clint shifts uncomfortably. “But as for his deal, I’ll, uh, I’ll have to leave that up to him to tell you. That is if you’re in.”

Darcy considers for a moment. Clint’s right about the talking points. And she really is starting to worry that maybe her fledgling career will take a hit from this. Uncertainty is a huge stone pressing into her stomach as she replies, “I guess I’m in.”

Clint gives her a pleased look. “Well good, ‘cause we’re meeting him tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "swimming pools, movie stars" phrase is from the theme song to 'The Beverly Hillbillies'.
> 
> I am jealous of everyone who gets to have In N Out. I live in Five Guys territory but I've always wanted to try an animal style burger.
> 
> Bucky and Darcy *will* meet next, pinkie-promise! I wanted to publish this chapter today before we have some rather last minute out of town guests at the house this next week so I'm not too sure if the next update will go up as soon as I want. I'll try though!
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments section!


	3. Chapter 3

Darcy fishes out her phone from her bag and immediately texts Jane:

“ _Bucky fucking Barnes is a motherfucking ASSHOLE!”_

\------

_Earlier that day…_

Darcy sits fidgeting in the passenger seat of Clint’s purple hatchback, wearing a simple pale yellow sundress and nervously tapping non-rhythms onto the handbag resting in her lap. She feels strangely (or perhaps not so strangely) as if she were auditioning.

“This isn’t an arranged marriage,” Clint had said to her when picked her up that afternoon. “If you don’t like him for whatever reason, we leave.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. They’ll have you sign an NDA but that’s it. And we can find something else, promise. So you can stop looking so peaky.”

“I’m not peaky!” she insisted, firmly ignoring how foreboding having to sign an NDA for a simple meeting was.

The car trying is its best to wind up the Hollywood Hills is making Darcy a little queasy. Or perhaps it’s the thought of her entire career riding on what feels like a blind date. Either way, if Clint doesn’t start taking the turns a little slower he’ll be re-upholstering the interior of his vehicle sooner rather than later.

Just when Darcy is about to tell him to pull over, Clint pulls up to a tall wrought iron gate. He rolls down the window and speaks into the intercom box.

“Clint Barton and Darcy Lewis, we have an appointment for 1:30.”

The gate buzzes then swings open, allowing them entry. An angular little bungalow is shaded on either side by large mulberry and elm trees and sits on a small emerald green lawn. California, seemingly always in a state of drought, apparently makes exceptions for homes in the Hills.

“How very cloak and dagger,” Darcy ventures, as they crunch over the gravel driveway.

“Dude likes his privacy,” replies Clint, carefully steering the car into a space between a sleek black Audi and a motorcycle.

Darcy expects the door to be answered by a grim-looking butler to further continue the mystery theme, but instead a tall, muscular blond whose bulk nearly takes up the doorway greets them both. His blue eyes are friendly and he gives an easy smile as he greets Clint with that weird handshake half-hug thing that guys do.

“Clint! Nice to see you again,” he says even as he turns to Darcy.

“How’s it going, man,” answers Clint. He turns to Darcy and says, “Steve Rogers, Darcy –“

“Darcy Lewis, yes I know. Nice to finally meet you. I like that movie you did with Emma Stone. The scene where you fall in the Trevi Fountain - I had tears I was laughing so hard!”

Darcy grins and takes his offered handshake, liking this dude already. “I had to do seven takes of that pratfall,” she explains proudly. “Wardrobe was so mad at me!”

“Well, come in, please. You find the house okay?”

Steve doesn’t wait for an answer as he shuts the door behind them and proceeds to adjust an already perfectly centered entryway rug with his toes.

_He’s nervous too,_ Darcy realizes with a small amount of comfort.

They follow Steve into a spacious, open plan living room, walking on dark, gleaming wood that stretches towards floor to ceiling windows. Beyond that, the soft spring sun illuminates the little strip of grass that serves as a backyard. It’s enough for a tiny outdoor dining set and an old looking grill, but she imagines that whenever the LA smog-haze clears the view of the city must be second to none.

“Buck! They’re here!” Steve yells through the house, and Darcy’s heart beats double time.

_You’re Charlize Theron in Fury Road,_ she thinks to herself. _You’re Uma Thurman in Kill Bill - or Sigourney Weaver in literally anything._

At first Darcy can’t reconcile the tall man who walks into the room with dashing action hero Bucky Barnes – the Bucky who charmed Alicia Vikander with dancing and rakish smiles in a trilogy of adventure movies. When she looks past the long hair that hangs over his ears, and dark, slightly unkempt stubble, the expression on his face is tight and tense. Despite it being a warm day, he wears black pants and has his hands shoved into a thick black hoodie. But when he gives Darcy a quick, calculating once over she spots those grey blue eyes and familiar chin that featured seemingly in every People’s Most Beautiful List.

Darcy plasters on what she hopes is a bright smile and manages a tiny, awkward wave.

“Darcy Lewis, potential fake-girlfriend,” she quips cheerily.

“Bucky Barnes. Here against my better judgement,” Bucky answers, his voice deep and gruff.

 “Bucky –” Steve starts warily. He lets out a long-suffering sigh.

Bucky turns to level an icy stare at Steve, and Darcy thinks she can see the muscle of his jaw work.

“She’s fine,” Bucky says flatly and turns to leave.

Darcy’s smile drops.

“What the fuck, man?” Darcy exclaims at the same time Clint yelps out an indignant “Hey!”

Anger flares hotly in her stomach and she can feel her face flush. She clutches the straps of her bag tightly.

“ _’She’s fine’?!_ That’s it? A little ‘that’ll do, pig’ and I’m supposed to what – swoon and be _thankful?”_

“Darcy – “ Steve begins to apologize and places a hand on his friend’s arm to keep him from leaving.

“What if _you_ aren’t ‘ _fine’_ for me?” Darcy demands, ignoring Steve completely. “Maybe I don’t want some washed up meathead action star as my fake boyfriend?”

An agonizing silence spreads over the room. Clint glares at a silent Bucky while Steve seems too shocked to say anything.

“Right,” Darcy grinds out. “Mail Clint whatever forms I need to fill out.”

She primly smooths invisible wrinkles from the front of her skirt, grabs Clint by the sleeve of his t-shirt and makes toward the door.

Bucky, quiet and impassive, watches them go.

“Wait! Darcy, please wait,” Steve says, making his way to Darcy and Clint. He turns to Bucky who stands with his arms crossed against his chest and is studying his hardwood floors. “I know how difficult it’s been for the both of you and that this situation isn’t ideal.” He glares at Bucky. “So he’s sorry. Right, Buck?”

“Why should I apologize?”

“Are you for real right now?!” Darcy answers, trying not to sound shrill.

“Give me something to work with here, man,” Steve says, exasperatedly.

“Fine.” Bucky’s expression softens slightly as he looks at her. “Sorry I was a dick.”

“Fine,” Darcy glowers right back.

“Can we - let’s all have a seat and iron this out, alright?” Steve says.

On the coffee table is a silver thermal carafe and a set of four cups and saucers. There’s cream and sugar, and a plate of madeleines - clearly despite Darcy wanting to hightail it out of there preparations were made for a good long meeting.

She inwardly groans.

Steve and Clint take the two single leather chairs leaving Darcy and Bucky to the mid-century style loveseat. They settle in next to each other like wary cats, straight-backed and avoiding each other’s eyes.

“I don’t know why you get to be so huffy,” Darcy says to him once they sit down on the sofa. She places her purse on the ottoman and hugs the nearest throw pillow to her chest. “You don’t even know me.”

From beside her, Bucky’s voice rumbles out of him.

“Darcy Elizabeth Lewis, only child of Andrew and Patricia of northern Virginia. Co-starred in the educational TV show ‘Science Girls’ with Jane Foster, dropped out of Culver University to move to Hollywood leaving a half-finished Political Science degree,” Bucky recites. “You like breakfast foods, animals, and iced coffee. Your preferred charity is the ASPCA. Your highest grossing movie is _Kismet_ with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Last week you assaulted a producer, and not that that sleazebag didn’t have it comin’, but unfortunately it was done in front of paparazzi and one enterprising person with a cell phone.”

“Wow. Okaaay.” She sends an inquisitive glance to Clint who just shrugs as if to say ‘who knows?”

“I, uh, did my research on you,” Bucky explains, his eyes flicking quickly to hers.

 “Oh, through the agency?”

He blinks. “IMDB actually.”

Darcy reddens. “Right, of course,” she babbles. “Because if you asked the agency, then they would – “

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess you know why I’m here. What about you?” Darcy asks as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

Bucky takes a deep breath then lets it out slowly.

“A while ago I was…injured. On set. I had to have, uh, surgery. Major surgery, actually. Then physical therapy, rehab, the whole nine.” He makes a jerky, aborted movement with his hands as if he’d wanted to take them out of pockets but decided not to. “By the time I was fit again, two years had gone by and my agency was itchin’ to drop me. That’s where you come in.”

To say that Darcy is shocked is an understatement. She hadn’t heard anything about an injury on set, much less one severe enough to put a star like Bucky Barnes out of commission for years. She glances over at Clint and finds that his expression is suspiciously unruffled at this information.

_So he knew,_ Darcy thinks. Still, she has a sneaking suspicion that this is not the whole story. Plenty of actors have taken time off and managed fine.

“Alright. So…you basically know my life story and that’s all I’m getting from you?” she coaxes.

He shrugs one shoulder, and turns to look at her with those ice blue eyes that make her squirm. “For now.”

Steve breaks the uneasy silence. “You can both be good for each other’s image. Your…public relationship will hopefully be enough to distract the media. Bucky wants to get back to doing movies and you, uh – “ he trails off politely.

“And to be honest,” Clint interjects. “This incident with Darcy couldn’t have come at a worse time. She’s got a movie to promote and the studio will lose its shit if she’s out there representing some drunken bad girl when she’s supposed to be playing up the sweet female lead during press junkets.”

Steve turns to Darcy, expression earnest.

“I know someone’s attitude – “ Steve scowls at Bucky, “ – might lead you to think he’s doing you some huge favor, but this means a lot to him too.” Steve pauses expectantly.

Bucky softly clears his throat. For the first time since she’s met him he’s looking at her with something akin to friendliness. “Right, uh, thank you Darcy. Really.”

“Darce?” Clint prods gently.

“I think,” Darcy ventures hesitantly, “that we can both be helpful to each other. That is, if we can make this thing convincing enough.” She thinks for moment then adds, “And if we don’t manage to kill each other in the process.”

At this, the corner of Bucky’s lips quirk up a little. “I’ll try to be on better behavior,” he says to Darcy.

“Okay, well, I guess that’s it then,” Clint says.

Bucky nods seemingly as relieved at Darcy is to get this meeting over and done with.

“Steve you wanna help me take these back into the kitchen?” Bucky says, picking up the carafe.

“Sure buddy,” Steve says, as he gathers up the cups and follows him out.

“Darce, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” Clint asks her once they’re out of earshot.

“I’m _sure_ , Clint,” Darcy answers barely suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. She loves Clint but he really can be the overprotective big brother sometimes. “Don’t worry. I’ve worked with worse, believe me. One irritable actor isn’t enough to get me running for the hills.”

Darcy eyes the pot of creamer. “I’m gonna bring this in to the boys, it probably needs to be refrigerated,” she says, eager to avoid being talked out of this.

She is not eavesdropping (she isn’t!) but she hears the rapidfire sibilance of Bucky talking to Steve in a low voice as she approaches the kitchen.

“I agreed to this and I ain’t backing out,” Bucky explains in placating tone. From the corner of her eye she sees him pinch the bridge of his nose and he mumbles, “But just how the hell am I supposed to make this work? With _her?”_

Oh, that is it.

She steels her spine. Walking into the kitchen, she places the creamer down on the granite counters none too gently. At the clamor, the two men turn to face her guiltily. She rounds on Bucky and watches with satisfaction as his eyes go wide in the face of her anger.

“Heard you used to be an actor, Barnes,” she declares. “ _Act.”_


	4. Chapter 4

_“He was bad-tempered and…and churlish and not at all as good-looking as he is on screen,” Darcy sniffed imperiously._

_“Really?” a slightly blurry Jane asked from her laptop screen. She raised an eyebrow. “Even I saw ‘Fatal Bullet’ and he was really hot –“_

_“Nope, nope. Not at all handsome. Ugh. That assface.”_

_Jane giggled. “Sorry, what?”_

_“He’s an assface. He has an ass. On his face,” Darcy explained. She took her thumb and forefinger and pressed them together on either sides of her chin. “Like this.”_

_“Oooh! A chin dimple!” Jane exclaimed. She shrugged. “I think that’s cute.”_

_“Whatever,” Darcy grumped, rolling her eyes. “He has a butt on his face.”_

\------

 

Darcy is scrolling through her Instagram posts. She hasn’t posted anything new since she tased Scooter, taking Clint’s advice to lay low publicly as well as on social media, but about two weeks ago she did upload a picture of her morning latte. It was just the usual stylized picture of every day life - her latte with foam, an Elle magazine and in the corner the bouquet of fresh flowers she treated herself to.

Darcy feels the beginning of an idea taking shape. It might be too obvious for her and Bucky to be seen to together right away, but maybe if there’s a hint, a suggestion of a relationship to start out...

She fires off a text to Steve.

**tell ur cranky friend to send me flowers**

She thinks for a second, copy-pastes the address of a florist, then -

**pink peonies**

**write something cute on the card**

_Let’s get this show on the road._

 

\------

 

A knock on her door the next morning rouses Darcy from her place in front of the television where she sits going over her promotional schedule for the movie. Peering through the peephole, her eyes widen when she takes in the delicate ruffles of pink and white petals. For half a second she thinks that Bucky must have had them express delivered until she realizes that Bucky himself is holding the flowers.

“Uh, hello,” she greets opening the door, slightly shocked at seeing him not only on her doorstep but without a glower or frown in sight.

“Hi, Darcy,” he answers, hesitantly meeting her eyes.

His hair, while still long seems to have been trimmed at the ends and his stubble is more fashionably jaw defining instead of the sloppy bunker dwelling variety. Gone are the dark pants and baggy hoodie, replaced with a pair of dark wash jeans that hint at muscular thighs and a grey long sleeved shirt. He stands a little taller than she remembers and shit, has his eyes always been this blue?

“Well this is a different look for you,” Darcy states, throat a little dry.

“Steve mighta told me to clean up a bit,” he says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. A hand that was gloved. Huh. “Said to maybe not wear black all the time.”

She takes in his slate-colored Henley, how it valiantly attempts to contain the well-formed muscles of his broad shoulders and arms. She blinks, reminds herself to breathe.

”So you wore grey?”

He shrugs, smirking.

Darcy takes the flowers from him and immediately breathes in the soft pink petals. Peonies never smell like anything besides fresh greenery to her, but the motion is automatic.

“Uh, Clint texted me last night.”

Darcy peers at him over the blooms. “Really?”

“Yeah. Told me never to treat you like that again or he will, quote, ‘ruin’ me. And then he sent me about twenty knife emojis.”

She cackles. “Aww, Clint.”

She motions for Bucky to come in and sets about finding a vase for her flowers. She rummages through a cabinet until she finds what she’s looking for – a white porcelain vase given to her as a housewarming present by Jane. She sneaks several glances at Bucky while she fills the vase with water and her flowers.

He is standing in her living room, appearing a great deal more relaxed than when they last had their admittedly disastrous meeting.

“Nice place,” he says.

“Thanks.” She places her gift on the coffee table and surreptitiously shoves the hot pink bra draped on her sofa under a seat cushion. She hopes she was fast enough but from the corner of her eye, she can see a Bucky trying to hide a smile.

“I’m actually thinking of temporarily moving downtown,” he tells her, mercifully not mentioning the bra.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. If we’re gonna do this thing we can’t have both of us going back and forth to the Hills all the time.”

“You looking for a place?”

“Actually, I’m just switching with Steve. He’s got a place that I’ll stay in and he’ll take my house for a while.”

“How long do you think you’ll have to stay at his place?”

“Hopefully not long. I definitely don’t see us needing till the end of the year.”

Darcy bites her lip. “Oh. Right.”

“Well…do you?”

“No! No, you’re right, the quicker and more effective this is the better it will be for the both of us.”

Bucky nods, and shoves his hands in his pockets while glancing around. Darcy wonders if he’s judging her decorating scheme – is that coffee table _too_ trendy and try-hard? Is the Cassatt print on her walls too twee? Before he can make his way over to her bookshelf she speaks up.

“Well, make yourself at home. Aside from being really excellent at floral delivery to what do I owe this honor?”

Bucky ducks his head a little. “Uh, I owe _you_ actually. An apology. For when we met –“

Darcy grimaces. “Look I get it, let’s both agree it was a shitshow and we can move on okay –“

“No, you don’t get it.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “There’s some things you should know. Can we –“ he motions to her sofa.

“Yeah, of course.”

They sit on her sofa, Darcy shuffling her papers to the side table and muting the TV with a click. She has a feeling this is going to be important and wonders if she should make tea. That’s what people do, don’t they? Make tea for serious discussions?

Bucky’s easy manner from just moments before is replaced by a stiff posture and darting eyes. He takes his hands out of his pockets, and Darcy’s eyes are once again drawn to his left, encased in a black leather glove.

“Hey. You don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Darcy assures him. She lays a cautious hand on his, not even sure if he’d snatch it away from her overture. He gives it a squeeze before gently drawing it back and wringing his hands.

“No, you should know. You _need_ to know if we’re – if we’re gonna do this thing.”

“Okay,” Darcy says softly.

“The…injury that I told you about. It was pretty bad.” Bucky bites his lip. He’s so coiled up his uneasiness is radiating off of him waves. There’s a pause as he gathers himself before diving in. “We were filming this stunt, and shit I was so stupid, I wanted to show off to the director maybe and. Well. The way it was supposed to go was, I get kicked off a moving train, right? I’m wearing the wires, the harness, and I’m ‘sposed to fall onto a mat just in case. Only, I didn’t fall right and the wires failed or snapped or somethin’. Got tangled up in them when I fell.” He takes a breath, shaky. Darcy watches his hands clench and unclench reflexively.

“Bucky – “

“Don’t remember much of that day, to be honest. Was told my arm was near ripped right off, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, God,” Darcy rasps, feeling sick to her stomach. She’s vaguely aware that she’s clutching the armrest of her sofa, her fingernails digging into the fabric.

“And Steve. I owe Steve a lot. He was there that day, was watching filming. Apparently he came running so fast, he cut the wires off, did first aid best he could until the medics could get there. If – If he hadn’t been there, it woulda been much worse. I might’ve – I could’ve…”

Darcy lets out a breath. “Wow.”

“Yeah. And…you should know, I uh. Fuck it I’ll just show you. “ In one swift movement, Bucky pulls off his glove and pushes up the sleeve of his shirt.

Darcy sharply inhales as she takes in the gleaming metal, the slightly shifting plates of his arm. It’s unlike any prosthetic she’s ever seen, except –

“It’s Starktech,” confirms Bucky. He lifts his left arm between them, palm up, and slowly curls and uncurls his silver fingers. Darcy watches as his fingers move fluidly, the smooth movement as if his hand was flesh. He balls his hand into a fist and rests it on his leg again.

“Holy shit,” Darcy breathes. “I’ve only ever heard Stark talk about it, seen the pictures of the prototype at that TEDtalk. But how –“

“Remember when I said I owe Steve a lot? He and Stark, they know each other. Steve put some calls in once the doctors realized my arm wasn’t uh, salvageable. So I gave Stark the okay to try it out on me.” Bucky licks his lips. “What did I have to lose, right?” he murmurs, bitterness seeping into his tone. “I’m the only one who has this. Turns out it would be much too dangerous and expensive to mass produce. At least at this stage.”

“Dangerous?” Darcy repeats around the tightness in her throat.

“The way I was injured, I was lucky that I didn’t fuck up my spinal cord and that I still have some of my nerves left. The arm, the tech, it’s much more integrated with _me_ than you’d think. The musculoskeletal system and the sensors in my hand are artificial but the nervous system it’s connected to is mostly my own.”

“Wow,” Darcy says, then mentally slaps herself. “Sorry I keep saying that I –“

“No, it’s fine. I know it’s a lot to take in. It was a lot for me to take in. Took me years,” Bucky says mirthlessly. He picks at the fabric of her couch. “The therapy, it wasn’t just physical.”

Darcy nods in understanding - then furrows her brows, tilts her head. “But how did you manage to keep this quiet? No one’s heard anything about this.”

“Money talks. Handed some out after having them sign contracts. Luckily we were filming indoors, we needed a green screen, so no onlookers. We were finishing up filming anyways, so everything else was either re-written or they used my stand-in. My manager took care of all the other details, financial and otherwise while I was…recovering. It was terrifyingly efficient, actually.”

There is only the faint white noise of the city as Darcy struggles to find the right words to say to him.

“Thank you,” Darcy says softly. “For telling me”

“So,” Bucky says, pulling the glove back on his metal hand with practiced efficient movements. He rubs his hands on the denim of his pants. “I know that this is a lot of unload on someone. I get it if you still want to think about it.”

Darcy raises her brows and manages a lopsided smile. “No way, man. Once I’m in, I’m in. Besides, you got me my favorite flowers.”

He huffs out a laugh, then looks at her bemusedly from under those dark lashes. “You told me to get you those flowers.”

She shrugs with good humor. “Shows you’re good at taking direction,” she jokes, gently nudging her shoulder to his. “We’ll be fine.”

He smile is tight-lipped but he gives her shoulder a friendly squeeze before he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. Darcy’s eyes settle on the cheerful bunch of flowers sitting on her table. She relocates the peonies to the windowsill so that it’s lit with natural light. Then she snaps the picture on her phone, sets the most dreamy, soft filter she can find over it and captions it:

_Thanks for the flowers – you know who you are._

 

She adds a bunch of hearts for good measure.

Plucking the card from the bouquet, she reads the slightly spiky scrawl on the ivory cardstock.

_Something cute for someone cute._

_BB_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't live in LA, but I imagine that even driving about 12 miles - from downtown to the Hollywood Hills - in city traffic might be a universally frustrating experience. In the movieverse, Bucky smashes through Sam's windshield and pulls out a steering wheel, which, having driven in DC traffic I can tell you I've had similar urges lol. So Bucky's temporarily moving, saving our duo from dealing with road rage.
> 
> In the next chapter...The Date (tm)!


	5. Chapter 5

_Jane Foster, twelve years-old, is all gangly limbs and wide smiles. Darcy Lewis, eleven, is big eyes and a gap-toothed grin. She holds a huge bowl of corn flakes in her gloved hands while Jane holds a pitcher of water. They look confidently into the camera, two pre-teen girls in white lab coats and almost comically oversized safety goggles, the straps pulled on to the tightest setting. On the table in front of them are some paper towels and a magnet._

_“Darcy, did you know that this breakfast cereal is fortified?” asks Jane._

_Darcy’s face scrunches up. “But, Jane, there’s no moat or cannons or anything!”_

_They pause for the enthusiastic, whooping laughter of the young studio audience._

_“No, Darcy! Here, ‘fortified’ means that it has added vitamins and minerals! Minerals like iron, which we’re going to extract from this bowl of cereal.”_

_“Cool! So according to this list, here’s what we’ll need.” Darcy recites the list while a checklist appears on the screen next to her._

_“So, do you have all the materials?” asks Jane to the camera._

_“And your parents’ permission?” adds Darcy._

_“Then we’re ready to begin!”_

_With loud, clear voices Jane and Darcy exclaim, “Welcome to this weeks’ episode of…’Science Girls’!”_

 

\------

Bucky answers the door with a toothbrush poking out of his mouth and wearing a maroon hoodie. The hoodie is rumpled and only halfway zipped as if it were hastily thrown on. He’s not wearing anything under it as evidenced by the fact that Darcy keeps getting wonderful glimpses at a smattering of dark chest hair and some very defined pecs.

God, does she ever need to start dating (for real) again. Here she is lusting after poor Bucky who she is _fake dating_ now for chrissakes - all of this is just supposed to be mutually beneficial arrangement. A favor. He’s doing her a favor and she’s wondering how she can bribe him into taking off his shirt.

Good grief.

“Sorry, what?” Darcy says, when she realizes Bucky’s mouth is moving.

“Come on in,” he says around the toothbrush. Only it comes out as, “Coh mwahnuh.”

Darcy follows him into the apartment. Or rather Steve’s apartment.

Her low-heeled boots click on the concrete floors and she cranes her neck to take in the high ceilings and exposed duct work. Darcy admires the red brick wall on which are stacked several bare canvases and a folded up easel. Bucky makes his way down the hall calling out something garbled. At the thunk of the bedroom door closing, she winces a little. If she were him she’d bolt it and set up a barricade for good measure if she had some crazy lady coming ‘round to gawp at her on her doorstep.

There are cardboard moving boxes, most open and empty and grouped in the corner for recycling but some still full. She peers into the one by a small freestanding bookcase, and reads off the spines of the books. Among some coffee table books – pre-war LA architecture, a series of nature photographs -  she finds a familiar large, red hardcover.

Darcy lets out a delighted gasp. Wait till Jane hears about this.

“Snooping already?” Bucky’s voice rumbles from behind her, still early morning rough. She’s not embarrassed to admit that she jumps a little before whirling around to meet him but he _did_ sneak up on her. She’s a little sad to note that he’s put on an actual shirt, a soft-looking navy blue button-down.

Darcy’s lips twitch. "Feynman, huh?"

"Yep.” Bucky grins with a challenging glint in his eyes.

She eyes Bucky speculatively and something about his answering smile, the way he’s crossed his arms over his chest makes her want to poke the bear so to speak.

“Alright, admit it, you’re a huge nerd! Bet you even watched my show,” Darcy needles. She playfully pokes his right arm, and oh god it’s like _cement._

He rolls his eyes. "No offense or nothin', but I think I was in the wrong age bracket for that. My, uh, my sisters though. Big fans."

"You have sisters?"

"Three actually. You and your pal Jane are indirectly responsible for at least ten percent of my ma’s headaches, lemme tell you. Almost every Saturday afternoon they’d watch your show and try to recreate those experiments.”

“Hey! We always said to ask you parents first! I absolve myself.”

“In any case,” Bucky continues, “I remember one time they decided it would be cool to put all these different liquids in the kitchen into one large glass –“

“-the density experiment!” Darcy finishes for him. “I loved that one.”

“I’m sure we all woulda been very impressed if Becca hadn’t knocked over the glass and everything in it onto the floor. Spent the whole day cleaning that up. Got grounded too,” Bucky added. “And after I’d went through all the trouble to get the olive oil and corn syrup from the top cabinets without being caught.”

“Wait. You helped? I thought you said you didn’t watch the show!”

Bucky grins wolfishly. “Might’ve caught some episodes,” he concedes. He lowers his head, and honest-to-god actually scuffs his shoe a little. “Might’ve also bought some coffee from the place down the street, too, if you want it. Steve only has his shitty Mr. Coffee and mine’s still lost in one of the boxes somewhere.”

“Ooh! Hell yeah coffee,” Darcy exclaims before realizing that Bucky had successfully distracted her. That smooth fucker, she thinks, before following him into the kitchen.

“Hey, did you get that e-mail last night? The thing about Phase One?” asks Darcy before taking a sip of the coffee. It’s medium-roast, still hot, and she takes a second to appreciate the bittersweet caffeination. She gives Bucky extra points for not getting Starbucks even though she knows for a fact that there’s one down by the corner.

Bucky nods, leaning up against the counter and taking his own cup of coffee. His metal thumb fidgets over the cardboard sleeve as he adds sheepishly, “That certainly made this thing more…real. ‘Phase One’. Jesus.”

“Hey, it’s no biggie. Just remind yourself that we can pull the plug at any time. Meanwhile we go on fake little dates, get our pictures taken, and pretend to…I dunno, canoodle, or whatever.”

“Canoodle? Really?”

“I don’t know, man, what do _you_ usually do on dates?”

Bucky, beaming, opens his mouth to happily tell her but she stops him with a raised hand.

“Oh my god, never mind. Let’s just do our own date thing, you goober.”

“Fine. Our very first ‘date’,” Bucky says in a way that Darcy can _hear_ the quotes around the word. “We’ll do whatever you like. A picnic? The museum?” He pauses to waggle his eyebrows at her, then, “Mud wrestling?”

Hoo boy, she did _not_ need the image of Bucky ‘wrestling’ her in her head right now. Or ever.

“Excuse you, everyone knows that mud wrestling is third date material,” she deflects breezily. “But I do have an idea. You have to trust me.”

“Why?”

“On this beautiful Saturday morning, we are going to an evil, dark place. Prepare yourself.”

“For what?”

“Existential despair. The call of the void. Bucky,” Darcy says making a show of searching his eyes, “I’m gonna need you to steel yourself.”

“For _what??_ ” Bucky asks, impatiently pushing off the counter to stand in front of her.

Darcy takes a deep breath.

“Brunch.”

He barks out a laugh.

“I can handle brunch,” he answers confidently. Grinning, he asks, “But can you handle Phase One?”

“Please. Me pretending to – to canoodle other people is basically my job.”

“Well…there’s also other stuff. Kissing.”

She narrows her eyes. “What about kissing?”

Bucky hesitates a bit, meeting her eyes. “Uh, obviously, we’ll do or won’t do whatever you want but couples generally kiss.”

“Yes…”

“So we can’t be…jumpy with each other.”

“I’m not jumpy.”

“You get a little jumpy,” Bucky insists. “Then you start to evade…”

“Y’know there’s starting to be some semantic satiation on the word ‘jumpy’ now.”

Bucky says nothing but looks at her for a beat.

“Fine. We’ll rehearse one.”

“Fine.”

Show business, she reminds herself sourly, is just so romantic.

Darcy rolls her neck and does some arm stretches.

“The hell are you doing,” asks Bucky. He’s squinting at her like she’s got two heads and one of them asked for his autograph.

“I’m limbering up,” Darcy replies, reaching her arms above her head.

Bucky pauses, his cup of coffee still halfway to lips, then smirks giving her an exaggerated once over.

“Thought we were just kissin’, sweetheart,” he drawls.

The flush that blooms on Darcy’s cheeks is searing.

“We are. So kiss me,” she demands.

He places his coffee down with finality, stepping into her space and softly placing his hands on her back.

And then he kisses her.

Their first kiss is neither painfully awkward or sexually explosive.

It’s…nice, Darcy thinks as she winds her arms around his neck. Really nice. It’s his surprisingly soft lips over hers and the faint chocolaty taste of his coffee. It’s the solid press of his body against her chest and his warm hands and the tips of his fingers pressing gently on her spine. She has to get up on her toes to reach him but he’s leaning down a little, and the tips of his hair brush her cheeks. Of all the things she thought she might do once she moved to Hollywood, kissing Bucky Barnes in the living room at 9am on Saturday morning is not one of them. When she feels his tongue lightly touch her bottom lip something electric jolts right through to her toes and she pulls away hastily.

 “Okay?” he asks, voice low, dark eyes searching hers. His hands slide to her waist and his fingers flex against her.

Her arms are still clasped around his neck and she fights the urge lean back up and press her cheek against the soft scruff around his jawline.

“Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”

So ‘okay’ that the kiss is all she thinks about on the drive to brunch.

 

\------

 

Before they left, she had texted Clint their destination and he dutifully made some calls. It all feels a bit dirty and a lot pathetic if she’s being honest with herself, but if it’s this or a tanked career the choice is an easy one. They ask for and are given a table outside so the photographers they pretend to not know about can get some good shots in.

It’s a beautiful day, and the atmosphere is almost enough to make Darcy forget that she’s ‘on the clock’ so to speak. Sunlight that manages to filter through the umbrellas and shade trees speckle white linen table cloths and the faint notes of music from the live jazz trio swirl around them. The restaurant has placed potted wildflowers on the railing outside and the low hum of the darting bumblebees mix with the rumble of conversation and clinking silverware. The waiter comes by to drop off the menus, extolling the wonders of their omelet bar and bottomless mimosas.

Darcy amusedly watches a distorted reflection of herself in the lenses of Bucky’s mirrored Ray-Bans. He’s paired them with a baseball cap (and the ever present glove for his left hand) and Darcy tries to keep her giggles to herself because his whole getup just screams movie-star-trying-lay-low to anyone who would spare them a second glance. Instead, she orders her first mimosa and a stack of blueberry pancakes.

The pancakes, when they arrive, are absolutely perfect. Fluffy and gloriously buttery and drenched in enough real maple syrup to sink a fleet of boats. Darcy is delighted to find that the blueberries are ripe and just tart enough. She manages to stop a moan from escaping her lips but not the blissed out look that crosses her face. When she opens her eyes, she finds Bucky staring at her open mouthed over an uneaten forkful of waffles.

He clears his throat. “Wow. So you really do like breakfast foods,” he chuckles.

Darcy can feel her cheeks pinking – she notices that happens a lot around him – and snags a ruby red strawberry from his plate in retaliation.

“Shut up,” she blurts, around a mouthful of strawberry and Grand Marnier whipped cream.

In response he reaches across the table and swipes his thumb across the corner of her mouth. Her eyes go round and her brain just _stutters_ as she watches him bring his hand back and suck the side of his finger with those full lips. Her stomach flutters just a little at the memory of that sinfully plump mouth on hers just that morning.

Before she can even say anything Bucky lets out an irritated groan at the distant clicking sounds Darcy herself is just beginning to recognize.

“I hate when they do this shit,” he mutters, nodding his head toward the group of paparazzi hanging out across the street. Their lenses are pointed toward them, a long line of black plastic eyes, and although some of the guys have positioned themselves behind some cars, for the most part they aren’t being at all subtle.

_Right,_ Darcy thinks. _We’re playing it up for the cameras._

“I know.” She takes a sip of water, hyperaware that her every move is being photographed and will probably be sold later. “But this is what we wanted, right? To be seen together?”

She puts on her best lovesick gaze and reaches her hand out to his.

Bucky nods and threads their fingers together, and gives her a timid but dimpled smile in return.

Their waiter, either too harried or too jaded by LA, doesn’t seem to notice or care that there are people staked out across the street taking photos of patrons. Instead, he places a laden plate in the middle of the table.

“Eggs Benedict with Champagne Truffle Hollandaise,” he announces with a flourish. Without looking at either of them, he adds, “Enjoy.”

Darcy discovers that it isn’t difficult at all to play at having a good time with Bucky. Over the split plate of eggs, he makes her laugh with his stories of Steve (“The first time we solo skydive, he’s actin’ so confident but that punk _lands in a goddamn tree._ ”), and of his sisters making him dress up as Prince Charming to their Princesses for Halloween when he wanted to be Indiana Jones instead.

He tells her about how he practiced handling and shooting guns for months before filming _Arc Light_. (“Must’ve looked alright. At least _Soldier of Fortune_ liked it.” “See this is the sort of thing that makes people think you were off stockpiling weapons somewhere!”)

Darcy believes they’re doing a serviceable job of ignoring the photographers and acting ‘natural’ but she can feel the eyes of the other diners on them as the presence of the cameramen has started garnering attention. She’s been watching, with some amusement, as a young woman with wire-rimmed glasses and neon purple streaks in her hair tries to get up the courage to come over to their table. Her companion, a blond guy with one of those lumberjack beards finally nudges her over hissing, “Just go say hi!” so loudly Darcy can hear.

Bucky can hear too, judging by his poorly hidden smile.

“Hi! I’m so so sorry to bother you but…you’re Darcy Lewis!” Purple Hair exclaims in a high, shaky voice.

“Yes, I am,” Darcy responds. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Holly and this is my brother Ben.” Holly hooks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of Lumberjack Guy. “I’m a huge fan or yours,” she gushes, wringing her hands. “Like, _huge.“_

“Thank you!”

“I mean, I love all your movies but growing up with _Science Girls_ was like, totally important to me, y’know? You and Jane Foster are part of why I want to be a chemist! I’m going to Caltech this fall!”

Darcy can feel her lips curve upwards so wide her cheeks hurt. She peers across the table to Bucky who looks so proud of her as smiles at her with leading-man white teeth that she feels something warm settle in her chest like a blanket. He even gives her a quick thumbs-up, the cheeseball.

“Congratulations!”

“Yeah, yeah, thank you. Oh my god, can I ask you to sign my –“ Holly’s words are rushed, tumbling over one another. She shakily holds out a pen then her eyes widen. “Ohmygod, I didn’t actually bring anything for you to sign! I’m sorry!” She giggles nervously, patting down first the pockets of her jeans then her purse. She sends a panicked look over to Ben.

“It’s cool,” Darcy assures her and moves to reach for the nearest napkin to sign.

“How ‘bout a picture instead?” Ben asks, holding up his phone.

“Oh!” says Holly, relieved. “Yeah, can I – I mean is it okay if we-“

“Sure, sure! Let’s take one.” Darcy moves from the table and runs her fingers through her hair quickly.

Ben hands the phone to Bucky. “Can you –“

“Yeah,” Bucky answers, and to better see the screen takes off his sunglasses, tucking the arm into his shirt collar.

And Darcy can calculate the exact moment that recognition slams into Ben. If it were an 80s movie there would be one of those record scratch sound effects for sure. Ben’s eyes nearly bug out of his head and he’s just standing there frozen with his hand still held out.

“Holy shit, you’re Bucky Barnes,” croaks Ben. Darcy’s actually worried he’s about to have some sort of cardiac event with his reddened face and rapid blinking. “Wow. Dude.”

“Oh. Oh, wow,” echoes Holly, her eyes now almost comically wide behind her glasses.

“…Can we get one of all of us?” Ben asks, hesitantly shifting a glance between Darcy and Bucky.

Darcy freezes and shoots questioning look to Bucky. To her surprise, he shrugs and smiles amiably at Ben.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky answers smoothly. They all scoot in tight for the picture and Ben holds out the camera as far as he can with one arm to get everyone in the shot.

Bucky leans down and wraps an arm tight around Darcy’s waist holding her close. It turns out that that scruff _is_ as soft as she’d thought, but she pushes that little musing away for later. Now, Ben has found just the right angle and through the front facing camera she can see Ben and Holly’s faces lit with glee and Bucky’s handsome face next to hers.  

It takes a couple tries for a non-blurry shot, and Holly and Ben leave after another round of ecstatic thank you’s.

They’re beginning to attract attention so the bill is hastily paid and they make their exit.

Once outside, they both ignore some of the more brave photographers who have begun yelling to get their attention. Bucky pulls down his cap and settles an arm around her shoulder. He leans down to press a kiss at her hair. It doesn’t take much acting at all for Darcy to wind an arm around his waist and lean into the warmth of him.

 “I think we did good, Lewis,” he murmurs into her ear.

 

\------

 

 

**_GossipChick Online_ **

**_EXCLUSIVE PICS: OMG Darcy Lewis and Bucky Barnes Dating?!_ **

_What’s action hottie Bucky Barnes been up to lately? Apparently dating (former Stun Gun Princess) Darcy Lewis!!_

_Girl, where have you been keeping him?!?!_

_The couple arrived for a romantic brunch at about 10am and were immediately seated on the patio. Lewis looked cute in a flowy blouse and rag & bone booties, while Barnes kept it casual in a ballcap and jeans._

_According to eyewitnesses, the couple couldn’t keep their hands off each other and looked blissfully in love._

_The super affectionate pair even took time out of their day to take pics with some lucky fans._

_Darcy stars in next month’s “Sugar Café” alongside the delish Chris Pine._

_Check out the Gallery to see more pics!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The cereal experiment is [real](http://www.rsc.org/learn-chemistry/resource/res00000393/extracting-iron-from-breakfast-cereal?cmpid=CMP00005110) as is the [density experiment](https://www.stevespanglerscience.com/lab/experiments/seven-layer-density-column/).
> 
> \- The book in Bucky’s collection is the boxed set of The Feynman Lectures on Physics by Richard P. Feynman. It’s his transcribed Intro to Physics lectures and you can read it for free [here](http://www.feynmanlectures.caltech.edu/) on CalTech’s website.
> 
> \- _Soldier of Fortune_ is an American “mercenary magazine” that’s uh, very pro-military and pro-Second Amendment. The bit about them praising Bucky’s weapons skills was originally about Arnold Schwarzenegger in _The Terminator._
> 
> \- In the next chapter: Darcy + Bucky + daytrip + motorcycle = ???
> 
> \- Come chat with me on [Tumblr](https://sachertortes.tumblr.com/)! :)


	6. Chapter 6

The response to Darcy and Bucky’s ‘date’ is incredible. Clint tells her that her Instagram and Twitter are inundated with comments and the studio is relieved that they don’t have to pay consultants to do damage control.

She’s in the checkout line at Gelson’s when she has the slightly surreal experience of seeing a picture of her and Bucky as a featured article in US Weekly. There, underneath “How Princess Kate Lost 15 lbs!” a title enthusiastically proclaims, “NEW SWEETHEARTS: BUCKY AND DARCY”.

And they encourage it further by going on more ‘outings’ together. In the Whole Foods parking lot they’re swarmed briefly, until Bucky firmly takes her hand in his and starts making a beeline for his car. Photographers start to crowd her until Bucky smoothly says, “C’mon fellas, give my girl a little room will ya?”

Bucky is photographed leaving Darcy’s apartment in the early hours of the morning looking tired and disheveled and the internet is breathless of over exclamations of his ‘Walk of Shame’.

(“Ain’t no shame involved, sweetheart,” Bucky declares proudly later that night so Darcy rolls her eyes and throws a grape jelly bean at him because all they _really_ do all night is watch UK crime shows on Netflix and eat junk food.)

Really, she’s getting used to hanging out with him all the time.

Putting her feet up on his lap while they watch television (they make it through about 10 minutes of _Shetland_ before having to turn on the subtitles), making fun of his music choices in the car (and him pretending not to notice when she turns it up later). Bucky finally unpacks his last moving box where finds his coffee maker (of course), and it’s broken (of course). They make a trip to Bed, Bath & Beyond to buy a replacement where Darcy tries to convince him to get a fancy espresso maker and they try out all the ridiculous ‘As Seen on TV’ products they can find. Bucky ends up in the checkout line with a new coffee maker but also a Magic Slushy Machine. Darcy tries not to look too smug.

 

All of this means that the studio is placing even more confidence in her. She’s promoting the new movie on a morning talk show which means waking up and being ready at what-the-fuck-o’clock in the morning. Luckily, the show sends a car over to pick her up. Even luckier, Clint is in it waiting for her with a cup of coffee the size of her head. He hands it over without comment and drinks his own coffee from a gigantic tumbler.

“You and Bucky look good together, kid,” Clint says, as the driver takes them onto the lot.

“Mmgh.” Her brain is still clouded with sleep and she does not have nearly enough caffeine in her system to be talking about Bucky.  

Clint instead gives her a supportive pat on the back and once they get to the studio, leads her to hair and makeup.

Her character in _Sugar Café_ is a pastry chef so they think it’ll be fun for her to take part in a cooking segment. She doesn’t mention that as much as she loves cupcakes the thought of baking this early in the morning is not at all appealing. Fortunately, she has back-up in the form of Liz, the winner of a baking contest whose recipe they’re using and the host herself, the beautifully shellacked blonde, Chloe Campbell.

When all three ladies have donned matching bright green aprons (‘LA’s Java Talk! With Chloe Campbell’ emblazoned in a retina burning shade of yellow on the front) they take their marks behind the giant kitchen island. Lighting is set, cameras start rolling and everything is going well. Chloe chirpily keeps the chatter going while they combine ingredients and Liz eventually loosens up enough to zip around the kitchen set like a pro.

“This piña colada cupcake recipe is so delicious and moist from the fresh pineapple!” asserts Liz and guides Darcy to the pink KitchenAid stand mixer. “Once we mix the dry ingredients into the wet, I’ll show you how you can also use this recipe for a layer cake.”

“Mmm! Maybe even a…wedding cake? How’s Bucky these days, Darcy?” Chloe squawks and overdramatically nudges Darcy to the excited whoops and cheers of the crowd.

And okay, Darcy knows she and Bucky are ‘dating’ but she did _not_ expect to be talking about him today. Certainly not about him and _marriage._ She tries to ignore the flip of her stomach, laughs a little too loudly and quickly yanks the knob of the mixer as far as she can, hearing Liz’s warning too late.

Flour and sugar poofs out of the mixing bowl and her vision is obscured by a huge white cloud while they all let out startled shrieks. Only Liz has the presence of mind to reach in and turn the damned thing off.

Darcy, the brunt of the flour bomb coating her face and apron, sputters out a puff of powdered sugar then recovers by staring directly into the camera and announcing, “This is why I _drink_ my piña coladas.”

The audience responds with raucous laughter.

 

Back in the green room, a change of clothes and some face wash gets the worst of the baking disaster off of her but she’s still annoyed at herself for getting so twitchy. Why should she be? As far as the world knows, she’s happily in love and the thought of being married to Bucky shouldn’t be out of left field.

“Nice save out there,” mumbles Clint around a croissant. He’s stretched out on the small couch and is eating what appears to be catering’s entire supply of breakfast sandwiches.

Her phone pings, and she reads the incoming text.

“Ready to go home?” Clint gets up, brushes the pastry crumbs off the front of his shirt and begins gathering her bags.

“Uh, actually, can you ask the driver to drop me off at Bucky’s?”

Blessedly, Clint only raises an eyebrow and says, “Workaholic, huh?”

 

\------

 

Darcy flops languidly onto the couch, letting her purse fall to the floor and toeing off her shoes without even opening her eyes.

“Okay, I’m here, what’re we doing today?” she asks, voice muffled by the arm she’s laid across her face.

“You alright?” Concern laces Bucky’s tone.

“Mmfine. Early taping,” Darcy mumbles exhaustedly, adjusting a throw pillow under her head. She opens one bleary eye to look at Bucky. Specifically, at Bucky and how criminal it is to look this yummy this early in the morning wearing a plain white t-shirt and gym shorts –

Wait.

“Oh god, no!” Darcy groans. “Please don’t tell me we’re going for a workout.”

Bucky smiles at her, an amused glint in his eyes. “I would never do such a thing.”

She lets out an unladylike snort.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Darcy, last week you called me after Soul Cycle and demanded I put you out of your misery and scatter your ashes outside the Cinnabon.”

“Fuckin’ Soul Cycle,” she grumps. “Stop trying to make bike shorts happen, bike shorts will _never_ happen.”

Frowning, she narrows her eyes as Bucky reaches for her left foot. Darcy’s glad for her recent pedicure when he takes her big toe in his fingers and wiggles it - _this little piggy went to market._

“Up,” Bucky insists.

“Five minutes,” Darcy counters, already partway into napping mode. Steve’s couch is so comfy but she supposes it has to be to take all of that bulk. She snuggles further into the back wishing for a light quilt or something when Bucky’s warm hands envelops her foot. He firmly runs his knuckles into her arch, and it’s like all the tension slips from her body.

Then, to her everlasting embarrassment, a moan that rivals that of porno actresses is drawn from her throat. She’s turns her burning face into the nearest pillow where she can pretend she’s becoming one with living room furniture instead of making sex noises around Bucky Barnes.

But Bucky only sighs. He runs his fingernail lightly over the length of her foot and Darcy shrieks, pulling her foot away and batting ineffectually at his hands.

“Not cool, Barnes!” She pulls herself up to sitting, glaring at him.

“C’mon. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

She rises from the couch, fighting a yawn and a whiny complaint.

“That what you’re wearin’?”

She glances down at the arm of her oversized cardigan. “It’s cashmere!” she protests.

He rolls his eyes and places his hands on her upper arms, his thumbs tracing distracting patterns on her shoulders.

“That’s not what I meant, I meant – Actually, wait here.” Bucky pads into his bedroom and returns wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. She eyes the dark bundle he has draped over his arm and smiles. Of course he’d have several leather jackets, Darcy thinks.

He drapes it over her shoulders, adjusting the lay of the collar a little bit, his fingers brushing the skin of her neck. She can tell it’s well-loved; it’s buttery soft, the cuffs are worn to a dark charcoal and creases line the arms. The shoulders are too broad for her of course, and she has to push the sleeves way up to free her wrists but it smells like Bucky – leather and the faint warm cedar of his cologne. She tries very, very hard not to pull the edges around her like a blanket.

Noticing their similar outerwear she teases, “Are we the Sharks or the Jets?”

“Hey. No sassin’ or I won’t take you with me,” he warns, and reaches out to playfully tug at a stray lock of her hair.

She follows him out to the parking garage where they stop in front of a Harley.

His Harley, apparently.

She takes in the matte black and chrome, the dark wheels. It looks like a sleekly dangerous animal. She kind of wants to pet it, to be honest, but she’s not sure what the etiquette for that is.

“Thought we might go for a ride today,” Bucky says, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Oh! Sure, I’ll just call Clint for the –“

But Bucky, when she peers at him, now looks vaguely hunted and gives a small half-shrug.

“Thought it could be just the two of us without the photographers. Uh, to celebrate I guess, since y’know everything’s goin’ so well.”

Darcy beams at him and the hopeful look on his face.

“Even better,” she manages. The grin he gives her in return warms her to her toes.

“Great. You been on a motorcycle before?” he asks, handing her a helmet.

“I’ve driven a Vespa,” she answers, conveniently leaving out the part where she actually drove it about 10 meters until her stunt double took over to steer it into a faux fruit stand.

One of his eyebrows shoots up as she fits the helmet on her head. When her fingers fumble over the chin strap he takes over, leaning in close to deftly tighten it and pull the helmet itself forward.

“Okay?”

She nods. Bucky shows her the footrests, her seat, and the small chrome backrest. From behind the face plate she watches him gracefully straddle the bike and grip the handlebars.

“Alright, just throw your leg over the seat and hop on. Hold on to me if you need to.”

When they take off the roar of the engine fills her ears and the rumbling of the bike thunders up her spine.

In downtown traffic, she spends most of the ride plastered against Bucky’s back, more aware than ever that being on a bike means being exposed on all sides to other vehicles and trucks. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind though, and when they’re idling he comfortingly squeezes the arm she has banded around his stomach.

“We should be outta here soon,” he calls back to her over the road noise.

If Darcy thought that the leather jackets were for aesthetics only, that notion is corrected for her as soon as they leave downtown. The temperature drops as soon as they’re out of the city, and with the air whipping past them it gets downright chilly.

They follow Highway 1 along the coast, and intermittently when there aren’t beach front properties obscuring the view she’s able to see the green-blue waters of the Pacific Ocean, sparkling in places where the sun glints off it.  She holds tightly onto Bucky’s waist as they curve around bends and zip ahead leaving all thoughts of the city behind them.

 

“That,” Darcy excitedly declares once they’ve pulled into a taco shop parking lot, “was awesome!”

Darcy hops off the bike, grateful to stretch her legs. She glances at Bucky as he lowers the kickstand and dismounts.

Most people would have had helmet hair. Not Bucky. The sight of him whipping off his helmet and running his silver fingers through his slightly sweat damp brown locks pings some sort of Danny Zuko switch inside her she didn’t even know she had. She suddenly has a very vivid, very specific vision of what he could do with those fingers.

“Cute,” he says her, snapping her out of her inappropriate reverie. For a split second, she’s actually terrified that he might be telepathic.

At her owlish expression, he taps one of the sideview mirrors and she leans down to take a look.

Bucky laughs at the face she pulls when she sees her reflection – apparently her eye makeup wasn’t necessarily wind proof. Darcy looks like she’s spent the afternoon marathoning tearjerkers.

She wipes away as much of the smeared mascara and eyeshadow as she can with the side of her knuckle.

"You try looking Vogue-ready with black raccoon eyes," she grumbles. 

"Speak for yourself, I think I'd look real nice.” He runs his hands through his hair again, grins brightly at her, then makes his way to the taco shop without once looking back, leaving her open-mouthed and indignant by the bike. She huffs and dangles her helmet by its strap in one hand then follows him inside.

The bell above the door gives a friendly chime and she can already see that the shop is pretty popular for visitors. Bucky barely made it in before her but there are already people lined up behind him. Darcy goes to join him in line but halts when she sees he has company.

A blonde woman with the tan and body of an avid surfer is speaking to him, leaning into his space and flipping her shiny hair. When Bucky spies her, he flashes her a nervy glance.

Darcy smirks wickedly to herself. She could probably play the handsy, jealous girlfriend ready to demonstrate her alpha status against another woman with a kiss on her man or something but what’s the fun in that? Besides, his teasing of her is still fresh in her mind.

She saunters up to Bucky completely ignoring Beautiful Surfer Girl and his eyes flicker over to her in palpable relief. She runs a hand possessively over his bicep.

“Oh, babe, sorry! I couldn’t find your rash ointment in the car, maybe we left it at home!”

Surfer Girl’s eyes widen. “Um, I’m sorry I didn’t know you were here with a rash – a _girl!_ A girlfriend. Okay, bye,” she babbles making a hasty exit to the back of the line.

Darcy watches her go, biting her lip and shoulders shaking with the effort to keep a guffaw from escaping.

“Was that really necessary?” Bucky asks even as the corner of his lip twitches up.

“Yep. You were giving me definite Panic Face,” Darcy informs him sagely.

“No I wasn’t,” Bucky insists, turning to face her fully. “When I panic, I make this face.”

Not one muscle moves on his completely impassive face.

“That was the face!” Darcy exclaims while Bucky rolls his eyes. “Now I’m thinking the seared ahi tacos, what’re you getting?”

 

With tacos and soda cans weighing down their takeaway bags, Darcy begins looking for a place to sit. There are a few picnic benches, but rickety and worn as they are they’re still all spoken for.

“C’mon, I wanna show you something,” Bucky tells her. He takes the bags from her hands and offers his arm, wearing a sly smile - really, how can a girl resist?

There’s no sign indicating beach access so instead they head for the sound of water, Bucky leading the way as she carefully follows him through a worn footpath in the reed grass and verbena. Finally, they end up at a secluded beach. The sand is soft beneath their shoes and the blue-grey Pacific stretches out before them. They find a spot to sit and eat their lunch, wedging their cold soda cans into the sand to keep them upright.

They eat in companionable silence, splitting their orders of tacos so they can both try a variety and passing the little plastic cup of salsa between them.

Full of delicious food and feeling pleasantly lazy, Darcy takes a breath of fresh air, watching the waves move in over the moss-covered rocks that dot the shoreline.

There’s nothing but the sound of the surf and the occasional seagull. She sneaks little glances at him, watches as the sea-salt wind ruffles strands of his hair.

He’s never looked so relaxed to her, face turned to the sky, eyes closed. She envies the fullness of his dark lashes, admires the surprisingly elegant line of his nose.

Great. Now she’s waxing poetic about his _nose._

Sad, she admonishes herself. Sad and pitiful.

"This place is beautiful," she says, eager to have her mind on something other than how pretty Barnes is.

"Yeah," Bucky replies. He leans forward to place his elbows on his knees. "I used to come here all the time when I was - well, after I was hurt."

Darcy says nothing, but her heart gives a little clench when she imagines him alone trying to recover and not let anyone know of his injuries. She watches as he digs the heels of his boots into the sand.

The sky, pristine and blue when they rode here, is now heavy with afternoon clouds. Mist has been coming in obscuring the horizon, but it somehow feels comforting like it's just the two of them at the edge of the world.

"I liked the quiet,” Bucky muses. “Hardly any tourists. Sometimes surfers, though."

Bucky shifts next to her, sipping the last of his soda and placing it the bag. He licks his lips, and continues.

"It's a good place. Whenever I didn't feel like talkin’ to my therapist or dealin’ with doctors anymore I’d take the bike out and come here."

He brought her here, Darcy thinks with some amazement. This was his space, his place to come to escape everything and he’s sharing it with her.

"I love it here. Thank you," Darcy says softly and she's not even sure he hears her over the sound of the waves until he takes her hand in his silver one and threads their fingers together. He holds their intertwined hands between them, his thumb brushing the side of her wrist. Every time she's a little surprised that his hand isn't cold at all but slightly warm. She takes a chance and scoots closer to him so her entire arm is pressed against his. After several moments, she leans into him and to her surprise he lifts his arm and wraps it around her shoulder. The significance of him using his left arm, even now covered when they’re out in public, does not escape her.

“Was thinking I’d eventually leave off the sleeves and gloves,” he says after a long stretch of silence.

“Bucky, that’s great!” Darcy exclaims. She’s more than happy to let him play it however he felt was right, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wondered what his plan was.

“Thought I’d tell ya since we’re sort of in this together now. It might – it might affect you too. You’re alright with it?”

“Yes, of course. Your prosthetic is a part of you. Even if I wasn’t okay with it, it’s not any of my business, is it?”

“People will probably make it uncomfortable for you. Might not be so nice about it…”

Darcy pauses for a moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Did you know that some asshats online started a countdown timer for when Jane and I would turn legal? Believe me, I’ve seen it all. Besides, it’s not about me. Are _you_ okay with this?”

Bucky tilts his head, considering. “Yes. I think it’s time. Also, the uh, the studio wants me to come in to test for something. Which is great but that means that they’re gonna have to know about my injury eventually. I can’t keep hidin’ it. I know that not everyone will be accepting of it. Better to have them reject me up front than to have to keep up the charade. Get it over with, y’know?”

“Well, fuck those guys,” she says with force.

He lets out a long breath and casts a sad little look her way. “Aw, Darcy – “

“No,” Darcy grinds out vehemently.

Her eyes water with anger and frustration. How could he think this? Is this what he thought of himself? And what was most hurtful of all was the small niggling feeling that he was right. Their industry, infamous for being shallow and superficial, _would_ close some doors to him. It’s been done before to other hopefuls with stars in their eyes for much much less. That’s the reason for this arrangement on his side. Her presence makes him more accessible to the studios, to casting, to the audience. That someone like Bucky – sweet, sarcastic, funny Bucky who takes his coffee black but will gladly split a piece of cake with her for breakfast -  even needs someone to do this for him makes her incensed on his behalf.

“Bucky Barnes, you are one of the _best_ people I know, and if they can’t see what I see because they’re too dumb to understand what a prosthetic arm is, well, they can all _fucking bite me_.”

When she turns to face him fully he’s regarding her in wonderment. He lifts his hand to cradle the side of her face. Sighing, she shuts her eyes and leans into his touch. The metal of his thumb is cool, smooth as he ghosts it gently over her bottom lip sending shivers down her spine.

When she opens her eyes, Darcy’s breath hitches at the way he’s watching her. His blue eyes have a bit of grey in them, she realizes. His gaze flits down to her lips for a second and she feels something like a bolt of light in one of those plasma balls she and Jane had on the set of their show.

Her heart thumps in chest, thrumming louder in her ears than even the sound of the surf. There’s the realization that if he were to kiss her here now, no pretenses, no cameras, just them on the beach she’d kiss him back.

“Darlin’, I – “

Darcy jolts at the endearment, said without jest and without an audience.

It shocks him too apparently, and she briefly registers the rattled look in his eyes before he abruptly jerks his hand away and ducks his head, turning away from her.

“It’s gettin’ cold,” he states, voice like gravel. “We should head back.”

 

\------

 

Back at her apartment Darcy immediately takes a long hot bath, emptying the remnants of her favorite fig & honey body wash into her porcelain tub. Amongst the sweetly fragrant bubbles, some of her shakiness and jitteriness ebb away leaving her only with confusion.

She keeps thinking of the afternoon, of Bucky. Everything was lovely and, and _snuggly_ even until… until. She pictures how his shoulders were hunched and tense under his leather jacket as he stalked back to his bike. The contrast between that and the way he looked at her on the beach makes her feel colder than ever, and she toes faucet on for more hot water.

Her voice hollowly echoes of the walls of her bathroom when she can’t help a groan of embarrassment from escaping. Both of their careers are on the verge of bouncing back and here she was mooning over him like some lovestruck teenager and making everything awkward. The last thing they need is a complication in the arrangement.

She needs to be professional. Friendly but professional, she reminds herself as she observes her pruny fingers and finishes up her bath.

After settling under the pristine white of her fluffy comforter, the fact that she’s been up since before dawn to do the taping finally catches up with her and her eyelids fall heavily closed.

When she dreams, she dreams of the Pacific Coast going on and on forever, the sun warm on her shoulders, of slate-blue eyes, and of his arm protectively around her as they sit on the misty beach, just her and Bucky at the edge of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- So I got a little carried away imagining _Sugar Café_ , the cheesy-fun romcom starring Darcy and Chris Pine. I even wrote a little blurb for it lol.
> 
>   _“Darcy Lewis stars as Eleanor ‘Ellie’ Graham, a plucky pastry chef who has inherited the Sugar Café from her uncle on his death. But what she doesn’t know is that the business was started with mob money - and now they’re here to collect their share. Enter FBI Special Agent Ethan Harlowe (Chris Pine) who is sent to protect her while undercover as her assistant. Can these two whip up a delicious romance in the face of danger?”_
> 
>    
> \- Apparently, when you’re a first-time motorcycle rider it’s better to start off slow and maybe not immediately start going on highways and daytrips. Thanks for suspending your disbelief for this (and a bunch of other stuff) in this fic ;)
> 
> \- The Panic Face exchange is shamelessly lifted from Mulder and Scully in the first X-Files movie.
> 
> \- You can find me on tumblr [here](https://sachertortes.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> \- Thank you so much for reading! Your comments and kudos mean the world to me :D
> 
> \- In the next chapter: the movie premiere!


	7. Chapter 7

Darcy doesn’t hear from Bucky for days.

Those days turn into a week.

Then two weeks.

They’re lucky as hell the Real Housewives and the Kardashians must be taking some time off because the pictures of her and Bucky are _still_ getting printed.

The top listicle on Buzzfeed is “12 Reasons Why Bucky and Darcy are Relationship Goals”, which Darcy finds hilarious but also kind of really annoying.

 

Then one day #BuckyBarnes is trending on Twitter and Clint sends her a frantic text asking if she knew and links her to a CNN article.

_CNN._

Which. Holy shit.

_Los Angeles (CNN) -  Actor Bucky Barnes is now using a prosthetic arm after being severely injured on a film set two years ago, he confirmed recently._

_Barnes’ spokesperson said in a released statement, “We want to express that he has successfully recovered and is living a normal, happy life since his injury. He looks forward to returning back to work as an actor.”_

 

And from there on out, it’s a deluge. Photos are everywhere of Bucky in short sleeves, no longer hiding his arm. He’s walking back from Starbucks, holding a large coffee in his gleaming metal hand. He’s out for a run in tight blue Under Armour shirt, earphones in and sunglasses on.

Then Bucky gives an exclusive interview to Vanity Fair, which they rush to publish online with a photospread not even waiting to print it in the next issue. The main photo for the article is a simple close-up of Bucky’s face in black and white - he stares directly into the camera, eyes intense, serious, and his hands silver and flesh, are clasped in front of him. But the inset photos for the article itself shows Bucky smiling and relaxed, sprawled out on a director’s chair and laughing with whoever brought him coffee just out of frame.

There’s the thinkpieces that come afterward, about dangers in stuntwork and whether the studios are properly providing for their actors’ safety. And he _still_ hasn’t called her, despite newsmedia blowing up her phone asking for a comment. She was hoping he’d at least contact her to go over the talking points they should cover.

Darcy vacillates constantly over being pissed at hell at him for leaving her out of this and proud of him for taking this huge, terrifying step. She’s halfway to believing that he will call the entire arrangement off – after all, things got pretty awkward and then cold after their day at the beach and he seems be taking care of things on his own just fine.

But the longer he goes without contacting her, the more stubborn she gets about it all, if she’s being honest with herself, so she doesn’t contact him back. She _is_ basically just a coworker, she tells herself. He doesn’t owe her anything.

The LA Times run photos of Bucky at a children’s hospital, having visited kids who are getting used to their own prosthetics. Darcy smiles over one picture in particular – Bucky is pretending to arm wrestle a towheaded little boy, both of them using their prosthetics and the kid is widely grinning at Bucky, showing off his missing front teeth.

Finally, she can’t help herself and sends him a text: _I’m so proud of you Bucky!_

And she receives one back.

Two words: _Thanks, Darce._

 

\-------

 

Darcy stands at a restaurant hostess’ desk of a trendy, boutique hotel in Beverly Hills. She’s wearing a short-sleeved blush pink silk blouse and a charcoal pencil skirt but she still feels a little underdressed amongst the Hermès handbags and perfectly coiffed hair of the restaurant’s clientele. It’s not just the environment that is fueling her unease but the fact that she’d been summoned, for lack of a better word, a couple nights ago when she received a text from an unknown number.

( _Hi Darcy. This is Natasha Romanoff. I’d like to meet with you. Let’s have lunch?_ )

And she’d shown up because, well. Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha Romanoff, whose name is usually whispered in a tone of both fear and admiration. She’s never met her of course, but the stories of her abounded in Hollywood circles. Romanoff is supposed to be terrifyingly good at her job. Efficient, exacting, demanding, and most important of all, influential. She was almost like an urban legend - some people might say they saw her at an industry party but no one can really verify anything. Could that woman with the red hair in the background of that cocktail party photo be her? The total unknown who has just shot to stardom – is she Romanoff’s client?

For two days, the words ‘ _Let’s have lunch’_ sounded more like the portentous repeated notes of the _Jaws_ theme.  

Darcy is led to a small, private dining room in the back of the restaurant, past dark wooden chairs and pastel colored flower arrangements, exuberantly bursting out of their vases.

A slender woman with straight copper hair is sitting at a table disinterestedly perusing the menu.

She’s wearing simple black sheath dress when she stands to greet Darcy, her wine-colored lips curving into a smile.

“Hello, Darcy,” Natasha says in a voice huskier than Darcy expects. “Thanks for coming.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Romanoff,” Darcy replies, taking a seat. Natasha does the same.

“Please, Natasha is just fine. The wine list here is top notch, but I’m afraid the cuisine isn’t nearly as adventurous as Saudade.”

Saudade, the restaurant at which she made a fool of herself. Was that a jab?

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Darcy responds blithely.

Natasha nods. That was apparently the right answer.

Darcy has a million questions and then some, but is unwilling to show her hand. Instead she sets a linen napkin on her lap, and steals furtive glances at the other woman from behind a menu.

But Natasha’s placid face does not belie any hostility; it’s as if they’re just two old friends having a casual lunch.

The waiter comes by and they order - a steak-frites and red wine for Natasha and a grilled salmon and water for Darcy because she’s too jittery for anything more substantial.

Darcy does manage to make small chit-chat though, her curiosity about Romanoff getting the better of her.

“Is it true that you made David Fincher cry?” Darcy asks. If the question throws off Natasha, it doesn’t show.

“False,” she answers, to Darcy’s visible relief. “It was Stanley Kubrick.”

And Darcy nearly chokes on a radish.

“My turn,” counters Natasha, as Darcy takes a much-needed sip of water. “You and Emma Stone were really drunk for that golf cart scene.”

Darcy lets out a bark of laughter. “True!” she answers. “But that wasn’t my fault! She got ahold of this fancy-schmancy tequila and we polished it off between us. We were lucky the PAs didn’t have to scrape us off the green.”

The chatting is nice, but she can’t take it anymore.

“I’m perfectly happy with Clint,” Darcy blurts. “I mean, if this a wine and dine thing. I’ve been his client for years and he’s a good manager and a great friend. So. I’m not gonna switch to a new manager.”

Natasha only raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow at her and takes a sip of her wine. She doesn’t leave even a hint of lipstick smudge on the edge of the glass, proving that she must be some kind of dark wizard.

“I know,” Natasha says. “I like Clint. We go back a ways. That’s not why I wanted to meet with you.”

“Then why?”

“Because I have my own client’s interests to look after.”

“…Who?”

Natasha gives her a deliberate, patient look. “Bucky Barnes?”

“What?! But – but Steve!” she sputters.

Natasha blinks. “Steve is very sweet but he’s a stunt coordinator.”

At the dawning horror on Darcy’s face Natasha hastens to add, “Not for the film Bucky was injured in.”

Darcy watches as Natasha calmly slices into her rare steak the knife glinting with her small, precise movements. Her mind reels with what all of this might mean.

Darcy places her silverware down with a clink and leans across the table. “So you…you know about what Bucky and I are, um.”

Natasha smirks, mirrors her posture and stage-whispers back. “Who do you think set that up?”

“But I’ve never even met you before today!”

“To be fair, I prefer not to be met.”

“You realize this makes you sound pretty scary.”

Natasha shrugs her elegant shoulders, and plays with the stem of her wine glass.

“You weren’t there at our meeting,” Darcy states, accusation managing to seep into her tone.

“No, I wasn’t.”

Darcy internally screams as she brings a piece of salmon to her mouth. God, trying to get information out of this woman is like pulling teeth from very beautiful, very deadly cheetah.

“But Steve was…” Darcy continues, motioning slightly with her fork.

Natasha huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Well, someone had to be there to keep Barnes from making a run for it.”

_Making a run for it._ Darcy can’t help it, her face falls. For a long moment, Natasha watches her calculatingly over the table, languidly drumming her fingers on the table.

“That’s not your fault,” Natasha says, cat-like eyes assessing. “Barnes, he’s…skittish. He took some convincing to come back, even though we could all see that he wanted to. In any case, you two seem to be doing well now.”

“Sure, I guess.”

“I liked those photos of you two at the park. You both look very natural with each other. Did I hear correctly that you have your premiere next week?”

“Yes.”

“So, we’re on to Phase Two, then. Official appearances together.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Darcy fiddles with the edge of her napkin.

“Care to elaborate?”

“We went to the beach, I thought we had a pretty great time but then…I don’t know.” Darcy pushes a leaf of _frisée_ around on her plate with the tines of her fork. “I actually haven’t heard from him since…well, since before he’s gone public.”

“дурак,” Natasha hisses angrily under her breath. She sighs and gives a contrite look to Darcy. “He’s been left alone far too long. He’s practically feral,” she says with an eyeroll. “I’ll brush him up on some manners. Don’t worry about Saturday, he’ll be there. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

\-------

 

The act of walking the red carpet takes approximately fifteen minutes but the preparation takes much longer. Months, if you’re going the personal trainer/nutritionist route. Darcy’s just glad she’s got the hair stylists, wardrobe stylist, makeup artist, and (supposedly) a date.

She is standing in front of the floor length mirror in her living room while Harper, her stylist, zips her into a gorgeous sky-blue Zac Posen cocktail dress. It’s sleeveless, silk, with a flirty A-line skirt that just brushes her knees. The whole confection is sweetly romantic with just a little sexiness from the scoopneck and the calculated seaming that play up her curves. It’s on loan of course, but Darcy loves it so much she’s thinking of keeping it. Harper smooths her hand over the fabric covering the hidden zipper, smiling her at her over her shoulder into the mirror.

“Perfect,” Harper declares, then scampers off to find her a pair of shoes.

Darcy brushes a lock of her hair back from her face. They’ve gone for old-Hollywood Veronica Lake waves tonight, effortlessly elegant in a way that meant it took two hairdressers, two hours, and a crapload of product.

Her living room is bustling with the sounds of chatter from her team of stylists and the bright beats of the pop song on the radio, she can only barely hear the persistent knock on the door.

Darcy opens the door to the fantasies of most of the women (and some men) of America. Natasha had promised that Bucky would be here, and boy, is he ever.

Bucky is wearing an impeccably tailored suit, charcoal grey, slimfitting, with a snow-white dress shirt. He’s standing in her doorway, hands shoved casually into his pants pockets, all broad shoulders and defined jaw. She’s sort of aware that her mouth is hanging open a little so she shuts it with a snap.

Luckily, Bucky seems to be a little staggered himself.

“ _Fuck,”_ Bucky breathes, gaze travelling the length of her body, and Darcy’s brows shoot up. “I mean –  You look really beautiful, Darcy.”

“Thank you. You too.”

“Thank y-“ Bucky catches himself, and shakes his head.

Darcy bursts out laughing and steps aside for him to come in. She’d planned on giving him a piece of her mind the second she laid eyes on him but he just looks so dashing with his suit and his hair and his face.

Thanks a lot, hormones.

“Car’s downstairs,” he says to her before he’s interrupted by the shrill of his phone ringing.

Bucky reaches into his suit pocket and fishes it out, jabbing it on with an annoyed grunt.

“Jesus, Nat, I’m here. We’re on – Oh, hey, runt. Thought you were –“

Darcy can hear a young feminine voice on the other line, though she can’t quite catch the words.

Bucky turns to face her, points at the speaker and mouths, “ _Becca”_.

Ah, the infamous Becca Barnes who managed to rope her big brother into doing experiments in the kitchen.

Darcy nods, and goes back to trying to decide on her heels for the evening. Nude or silver? Harper’s leaning towards the strappy silver so Darcy decides to trust her judgement.

_“Is it true?”_ Becca’s voice demands on the other line as Darcy slips on the Jimmy Choos and immediately gains 3 inches in height.

Bucky lets out the long-suffering sigh of a big brother. “Yeah, it’s true. Takin’ her to the premiere tonight, actually.”

Bucky jerks the phone away from his ear, wincing, as Becca’s ear-piercing squeal reverberates through.

Darcy stifles her giggles and is about to ask if she can say ‘hello’ real quick but then Mitchell, her hair guy, starts fussing at her. She flaps his hand away. He’s coming at her with the hot rollers again and she knows that if she lets him they’d never leave.

“Your waves are going limp,” Mitchell protests, setting a roller back into his black utility apron nestling it next to three (three!) kinds of hairspray. “It won’t take but fifteen minutes!”

“We don’t have fifteen minutes, Bucky says the car’s waiting outside.”

Mitchell pouts.

“Ten minutes,” he counters.

“Five and you can put as much hair goop on me as you need.”

“Diva,” he sighs, even as he motions for a glass of lemon water with a straw to be pressed into her hand.

“Slave-driver.” She smirks, sipping her water. Darcy pretends to not hear her makeup artist bleating about smudging the lipstick and instead focuses on a pacing Bucky. She needs to send an Edible Arrangement or something to the designer of his suit, because _wow._ A designer could make a ton of money creating suits that makes people temporarily forget that they’re angry at the guy wearing it.

“She’s uh, right here actually - you wanna talk to her?” Bucky asks into the phone.

“ _WHAT?! NO BUCKY I DON’T EVEN HAVE MY EYEBROWS DONE WHAT THE HELL,”_ comes the screeched response.

“What does that have anything to do with it?!” he demands, incredulously.

There’s a long drawn out explanation for that, Becca’s voice staccato and tinny on the line.

“Okay… _okay._ I gotta go now. Bye…. _Bye,_ Becca.”

Hair, outfit, and makeup done, Darcy is finally ready with only a minute to spare so she herds everyone out of her apartment while she and Bucky head to the limo.

The second they’re in the Town Car, Darcy makes grabby hands at the bottle of Moët the studio sent them. Bucky obligingly pours them both a glass and they clink the flutes together. If Darcy thinks that the journey to the premiere will be filled with exuberant chatter she’s wrong. She’s again caught between wanting Bucky to explain himself and wanting to yell at him for ghosting her for two whole weeks.  Several times Bucky looks like he might say something but Darcy turns away to mulishly stare out the window. They spend the ride sipping champagne on opposite ends of the vast leather backseat, the silence a heavy weight between them.

Totally Couples Goals, Darcy thinks bitterly.

“Darcy,” Bucky begins, nervously placing his champagne glass back in the ice bucket. “About the last coupla weeks, I –“

“Ms. Lewis? Mr. Barnes? We’re here,” their driver calls back.

“Later,” Bucky promises catching her eyes with his, as their driver exits the car to get their door. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she replies, and the door of the Town Car opens to the din of the cheering crowd and readying cameramen.

Bucky holds out a silver hand to her and she steps out of the car with him to a veritable wall of cameras and people. She rapidly blinks as her eyes adjust to the twinkling flashes from the professional photographers and fans’ cell phones. They walk the red carpet under the watchful eyes of numerous klieg lights, camcorders following their movements down the line.

Chris is has already arrived so they take some photos together and do some very brief joint interviews. He has the confidence of a red carpet veteran so all Darcy has to do is follow his lead. It’s fun actually, because Chris is sweet and funny and knows how to work the crowd.

Throughout, Bucky is a solid, comforting presence by her side, arm around her waist smiling for the cameras for the couples shots and standing back a few feet when it’s clear the photographers need some solo pictures of her. In other words, he’s the perfect Plus One for these events.

“In your recent Vanity Fair interview – “ starts an entertainment reporter shoving a mic in Bucky’s face.

“I’m here for my girl, tonight,” Bucky interrupts with a charming smile.  “Isn’t she gorgeous?” He looks down at her with mirthful blue eyes, and _dimples_ , actual dimples, so Darcy just reaches up, places a hand on his shoulder and captures his mouth with hers. He kisses her back immediately, instinctively, and she registers how soft and warm his lips are before they both pull back with a grin.

And although it’s fairly chaste and done in seconds, it’s enough for the crowd to absolutely roar and the cameras to click rapidly and madly.

From there, they quickly make their way down the rest of the carpet stopping in front of the cordoned-off section for fans to pose for selfies and sign autographs. In addition to movie stills of _Sugar Café,_ Darcy signs a surprising number of old Science Girls promos (no one can stop the nostalgia train, apparently) and Bucky signs a bunch from his latest Vanity Fair shoot and a handful of his older movie posters.

Finally, they enter the chilly, dark theater for the actual movie. This is the hard part. Once they’ve settled into their seats Darcy feels like her stomach is about to crawl right out of her throat, but before the lights go down Bucky takes her hand in his and leans in to murmur into her ear, “You’ll be great. I’m so proud of you.”

Bucky is right, _Sugar Café_ is well-received. The audience laughs when they’re supposed to (guffaws at her and Chris’ disastrous sex-scene in the bakery kitchen involving flour, and sugar, and strategically placed sprinkles) and the woman sitting behind Darcy lets out a wistful sigh at Agent Harlowe’s last-minute declaration of love to Ellie (in the pouring rain, naturally). But the part she likes best is when Ellie finds out that Harlowe is actually an FBI Agent, she tries to clumsily seduce him into breaking cover, showing up in a flimsy lilac nightie. Darcy can hear Bucky’s intake of breath before he tenses and holds himself rigid next to her, and she’s inordinately proud that she didn’t use a body double.

Take _that_ , she thinks smugly.

The after-party is suitably swanky – the open bar and freely flowing champagne loosening everyone up. The movie involved a bakery, so naturally among the usual hors d’oeuvres are circulating trays of macarons, miniature brownies, petit fours, and raspberry tartlets decorated with gold leaf - raspberry tarts being the only confection that Agent Harlowe manages to bake without burning.

She and Bucky stick together for most of the night, the tension from earlier seeming to ease although she knows the undercurrent is still there. But Darcy is determined to have fun tonight. They can talk later, she thinks, as she takes a bacon-wrapped date from a passing tray.  

The DJ plays a mix of upbeat Top 40 and danceable slow songs, getting a sizeable number of people onto the dancefloor. Darcy watches the boom operator do the running man to Lady Gaga and she nearly cries laughing. She and Bucky are doing a pretty good job holding up the wall when Harry Connick Jr. starts crooning about writing books and prefaces about the one he loves.

Bucky gives her timid smile and holds out his hand. “Dance with me?”

She doesn’t let herself think too hard about it, just places her hand in his and immediately goes into a stiff approximation of dance hold. Looking into his gleeful eyes, she warns him, “I don’t actually know how to dance.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve gotcha, beautiful.” Bucky winks, and champagne bubbles in her stomach go all fizzy.

Yeah, that’s it, it’s the champagne.

Bucky takes her on a few turns of the dance floor, gamely putting up with her stepping on his feet and rigid upper body. Eventually, Darcy just lets herself sink into the lush, jazzy horns and even hums along. Before she knows it they’re moving a little more fluidly and if she ends up with her cheek against his, feeling the soft bristles of his stubble, well, she’s just being a good fake girlfriend.

They’re both breathless and grinning when the song ends and they meander over to the edge of the room. Bucky’s still holding her hand, has been all night really, and he gently pulls her towards him. He traces the silver strand of her bracelet, the pads of his fingers soft against her wrist.

“Darcy, listen – “

“Darcy Lewis, the lady of the hour!” exclaims the woman behind her. Darcy can practically feel Bucky’s annoyance as he glowers at their interrupter.

Darcy turns to an unfamiliar blonde woman. “I’m sorry, have we met?” she smiles.

The blonde smiles back with shark white teeth over the rim of her martini glass.

“Christine Everhart, Hollywood Tattler.” She places her glass on a passing tray of a waiter and extends her hand. When Darcy stares at it for a beat too long she pulls it back, nonplussed. “You two are so cute together. Officially a couple, then?”

“Yes, we’re um, we’re having a great time tonight.”

“So you are or you aren’t?”

“What?”

“A couple.”

“Yes, we’re together, Christine,” Bucky answers for her, his tone low and hostile. Bucky pulls her closer to him and she can feel the tensing of his muscles under his suit jacket.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! So there isn’t any truth to what some people are saying.”

Darcy can’t help but take the bait even though she sees it from a mile away.

“What are they saying?” Her stupid mouth produces the words before her brain can catch up and Bucky’s hand tightens in hers warningly.

“Just that the timing for all of this is extremely convenient,” Christine supplies breezily. Her tone is sweet, sorority sister friendly but Darcy’s not naïve enough to think that she’s not gunning for a scoop. “Your assault on Scooter –“

“I was never charged with anything,” Darcy supplies, hackles raised despite herself.

“- the two of you dating, Bucky’s…,” Christine trails off in faux politeness.

“Coincidence, nothing more,” says Darcy, the excuse weak even to her ears.

“We won’t be commenting anymore,” Bucky interjects curtly. “Have a nice evening, Ms. Everhart.”

Bucky is pulling her through the crowd of minglers and dancers, Christine’s cheerful “Nice speaking with you, Ms. Lewis!” ringing in her ears. She’s breathing hard and stomping towards…somewhere. She’s not even sure where they’re headed, hopefully someplace quiet where she can seethe and berate herself for letting a reporter get under her skin. Once clear, Bucky places his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. His brows crease in concern at her flushed face. “Are you alright?”

“No. No, I’m not alright,” Darcy answers, slightly breathlessly. She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I think I fucked that up,” she sighs.

“You didn’t. And that wasn’t your fault. She was out for blood.”

“I should’ve had a better comment prepared, I – “

“Hey. No one listens to the Tattler anyways,” Bucky says. “If someone at that rag actually knew how to work Photoshop they’d be doing stories about how LA is run by lizard people from outer space.”

Darcy manages a wan, tight-lipped smile.

“You wanna get outta here?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah.”

He runs an index finger under her chin. “Good. Follow me.”

They briskly stride down a hallway, away from the event room. Well, Bucky’s striding and Darcy’s trying to keep up in her heels. They stop in front of a random door and Bucky takes the handle, swings it open, and shuffles Darcy inside in series of swift movements.

He pulls the door shut behind them and fumbles for the light switch on the wall.

“This is – You took me to a coat room?” Darcy asks incredulous, once her eyes adjust to the light.

“Uh, sorry ‘bout that. Kinda thought it would be an office or somethin’.”

The walls are lined coats and jackets, cramped with barely enough room for one person much less the two of them, smelling faintly of the colognes and perfumes that lingered on the guests’ clothing.

Darcy bats a hand at an end of a fur stole that’s dangling over her shoulder. “Who the hell wears this shit?” she muses. “It was 75 degrees out today!” She reaches for the door.

But then Bucky arm is a blur from the corner of her eye when reaches above her and pushes the door shut instead.

“What – “

Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh. “Been tryin’ to talk to you all night,” he says, like that’s an explanation. At her perplexed look, he continues, “I know I haven’t been around much lately – “

“ _Here_?!” she hisses at him, arms akimbo. “You want to have that conversation _now?!”_

He has the good grace to look a little abashed at that. “Well, you’re here, I’m here...”

“Has anyone ever told you you have a world’s shittiest timing, Bucky Barnes?”

He shrugs, leaning up against the door and crosses his arms.

“Fine,” says Darcy. “Tell me why you ignored me for two weeks and I had to learn about…about everything from CNN.”

Bucky winces.

“I thought it was the right thing,” he starts. “You don’t need this mess in your life. You didn’t sign up for this – “

“ – First of all, don’t tell me what I did or didn’t do. Second of all, I _literally_ signed up for this! For being there with you throughout whatever we have to face together. And you’d do the same for me. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m 100% with you for it to get through your thick skull?!”

“ – No, you have no idea what you agreed to do, Darcy.”

“Yes I fucking do.”

“I’m sorry, I thought it would be easier this way.”

“For me, or for you?”

“What?”

“You could’ve at least told me if you felt more comfortable doing the interviews and going public alone. You ditched me! I spent the last two weeks convinced you were done with me or, or that you were angry at me!”

“That’s not – This has been anything but ‘comfortable’, believe me. They’re staked out in front of my place day and night, they’re itchin’ for something anything to stick in a tabloid, I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want you to be roped into my problems like this.”

“So you decided for me?”

At his cagey look, she barrels on.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You think I couldn’t handle it, even after I _told you_ I could and _would._ Bucky, what the fuck?!” she exclaims, and angrily picks up the item nearest to her and just chucks it at him. Considering it’s someone’s chiffon wrap, it’s not nearly as effective as it should be and Bucky lets the orange fabric flutter at his chest and fall to the floor.

“I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have shut you out. I guess – I guess it was just easier to do when I was so used to going it alone…before I met you.”

Darcy’s expression softens.

“I shouldn’t have underestimated you,” Bucky adds hoarsely. “It won’t happen again.”

“Promise me,” she demands forcefully, jabbing a finger into his chest and watching his grey eyes widen.

“I promise, Darce.”

Darcy narrows her eyes. There’s a couple tense beats until she finally says, “Okay. Alright, dude, let’s hug it out.”

Bucky huffs out a tentative laugh, and obligingly holds out his arms. The closet, tiny as it is, means Darcy only has to shift forward a little until she closes the distance and holds herself against him. She buries her face in the fabric his shirt, pressing against his warmth. He’s loosened his tie and unbuttoned his jacket earlier in the night, so Darcy can just slip her arms underneath the jacket, breathing in the woodsy-skin smell of him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats into her hair. He tightens his arms around her.

“Don’t do that ever again,” she responds, words muffled by his chest.

They pull apart, and Bucky reaches for the door when an ominous _ripping_ sound comes from his jacket.

“Ah, shit,” Bucky curses under his breath. “I’m caught on this damned – “ and makes to pull his arm back only the movement hits Darcy in the shoulder sending her sprawling backwards into a row of clothes and hangers. There’s a brief moment where her arms pinwheel out intending to grab on a trench coat to keep from falling only she gets a fistful of Bucky’s lapel instead.

He falls against her with an “ _oof_!” and she’s trapped with the row of garments behind her and Bucky at her front.

“Oh, for –“ Darcy huffs irritably, moving to push him off only her heels aren’t exactly made for traction and she keeps getting off-balance. Bucky is faring even worse. He tries to pull himself away but succeeds only in sending a series of wire hangers raining down on them both.

“Come _on,”_ Darcy says, giving his shoulder a nudge. Maybe if she just shuffles sideways, so his stupid long legs aren’t tangled with hers…

“Stop _wriggling,_ for Chrissakes,” Bucky growls, hands clutching at her waist.

“I’m _trying!_ Ugh, something’s digging into my back – “Darcy reaches behind her, shoves what feels like an umbrella out of the way. The umbrella does eventually give way, but so do the boxes behind it and they tumble again, down to the floor and this time Bucky really _is_ on top of her.

And sweet tapdancing Jesus, his hands. His big, warm hands that were on her waist but are now pressing into her upper thighs where her dress has ridden up, his metal hand rasping against the fabric of her hose. If her undergarments tonight veer more towards Spanx and less La Perla, he doesn’t seem to notice.

His face is close, so close, to hers and he’s watching her with wide, dark eyes and she just freezes. She’s caught up in the way he feels, the weight and press of his body on hers. Hyperaware of his rapid breaths, she can feel the movement of them through her own body. She sees her own want, coiled tight right below her heart, mirrored in him and her hands grasps at his shoulders. She swallows against her suddenly dry throat.

The sound is like popped balloon in the sudden quiet of the room, and just like that the moment is gone.

“Dammit.” Bucky launches himself backward away from her, eyes dropping to the floor. “M’sorry,” he says, voice like frayed thread.

Darcy’s about to respond when the door swings open revealing a paunchy middle aged man in the white dress shirt and polyester pants of a security guard uniform.

His gaze travels between them, from Bucky’s slightly rumpled hair, jacket askew to Darcy smoothing down her dress, the both of them flushed and says in chilly tone, “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Sorry! We, um – “ Darcy starts, an epic blush creeping its way up her neck and face.

“We’re leavin’ now,” Bucky quickly finishes for her, and wraps a hand around her wrist and pulls her out with him. They push past the guard and just bolt until they reach the double doors in front of the event hall, the music is still thumping, where they skid to halt.

For a second, they both stare at each other.

It starts with Darcy unable to contain a her rather indelicate snort. Her eyes widen expectantly at Bucky perhaps expecting a reprimand, but his shoulders are shaking and he’s biting his lip. Finally, they both burst into hysterical laughter, holding each other up as Darcy clutches her aching stomach with one hand and Bucky’s arm with the other. Bucky runs a hand over his face in lingering embarrassment.

“Gee, Bucky,” Darcy lilts, a grin curving her lips. “You sure know how to show a gal a good time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Stanley Kubrick was known to be a particularly…difficult director to work for, so I hope no one minds that in this fictional universe Natasha made him cry a little bit.
> 
> \- Darcy and Emma Stone and the tequila is inspired by the story of Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman being drunk for real in a scene in _Practical Magic_. ~~Now I need a Jane & Darcy Practical Magic AU ~~.
> 
> \- Дурак = idiot, fool
> 
> \- The song Bucky and Darcy dance to is Harry Connick Jr.’s cover of “I Could Write a Book”, from the “When Harry Met Sally” soundtrack. Listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1l93B5EI1L8).
> 
> \- My tumblr is [here](https://sachertortes.tumblr.com/) :)


	8. Chapter 8

_“BLIND ITEM: It doesn’t take a scientist to see that this couple’s chemistry is electrifying. Which is probably why they were caught in flagrante delicto in a closet at an after party. Was she there to fetch a jacket and he was just lending a hand? Doubtful. Really, you two? Get your own room!”_ A pixelated Jane recites from her laptop screen.

“Wow,” says Jane, face scrunched and eyes darting the other open window on her screen. “These clues are really on the nose. ‘Scientist’? ‘Chemistry’? ‘Lend a hand’?”

Darcy stifles a laugh. “It’s supposed to be. I think it’s so people can think they’re clever for figuring them out and the writer won’t get sued or whatever.”

“Darcy, you didn’t actually – “                                                                                                    

“No! He -” Darcy bites the corner of her lip and searches for the right word. “Fell,” she finishes lamely, inwardly wincing.

“ _On_ you?” Jane’s brows twitch up, schoolmarm sharp.

“…yes? Nothing actually happened, don’t worry. The contract is to _appear_ to be fucking not to actually fuck.”

“Well, it’s working I guess? That’s good. That means you guys can stop soon.”

Darcy nods then hums noncommittally, twisting a lock of hair around her index finger.

“Oh my god, you don’t want to stop!” shrieks Jane.

“What?! Of course I do, I –“

Jane gives her the saddest little look and sighs heavily. “Oh, Darce. Are you _falling_ for -”

She’s interrupted by the knock at Darcy’s door and Darcy sends up a prayer of thanks to every major and minor god for the reprieve.

“Back in sec,” she tells Jane cheerily.

Bucky’s standing there when she answers the door because of course he is.

Ever since she demanded he not shut her out, he’s been running with it - showing up at her place bearing food or tickets to a movie. Once he came over with Scrabble. _Scrabble._

It’s driving her a bit crazy, this blurring of lines between their whatever-they-have and the wall she’s desperately trying to erect for the sake of her own sanity. Drawing those boundaries have been proving difficult considering she’s just begun to admit to herself that she really wants is to shove him down on the nearest flat surface and have her way with him.

It’s all very confusing.

“Mornin’.” Bucky greets her with one those grins that makes her think of said nearest flat surface. He holds up a cardboard carrier with two cups of coffee and has a plastic bag slung in the crook of his arm. “I brought bagels,” he says, nodding towards the bag.

“Well, if it’s bagels.” She ushers him inside telling the part of herself that’s hollering ‘Boundaries! Walls! Professionalism!’ to sit the hell down while adults are talking.

“Darcy? You still there?” comes Jane’s disembodied voice floating out from her laptop.

Bucky tilts his head in question, placing the bagels and coffee on her living room table.

“Oh, crap! Jane!” Darcy exclaims. Poor Jane probably thought she was being murdered or something. “Bucky, come meet Jane,” Darcy says, pulling Bucky towards her laptop.

Bucky leans down to get in frame of the screen and smiles.

“Hi, Dr. Foster,” he greets, waving the fingers of one hand.

Jane visibly jerks then blinks. “Oh! Hello! Darcy’s told me a lot about you, Bucky.”

Bucky laughs. “Oh yeah? What sorts of things?” he asks, a rakish smile spreading across his face. Darcy doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Jane only has eyes for Tall, Blond, and Prince of a Small European Country.

“Well, where should I start?” Jane taps her chin with one index finger, squinting thoughtfully at Bucky. She glances to Darcy beside him, and smiles deviously.

Tap, tap.

Oh, shit. The fucking chin dimple.

Abort abort abort!

“Okay, Jane, I’m gotta go now. Love ya, byeee!” And with that she slams the laptop closed, cutting off Jane mid-cackle.

Bucky’s brows furrow and Darcy gently herds him towards the living room.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“Oh, well. Jane’s a super-genius but who knows what she’s going on about half the time.”

She takes her coffee from the tray and sips it, eyeing Bucky as he pulls out the bagels, cream cheese, and paper napkins from the bag.

“So. I’ve got some news,” he begins, lining up a stack of napkins next to the plastic cream cheese container in a nervous movement that catches her eye. “Well, I had it a while ago but now I can finally tell you. That role I was testing for? I got it.” He smiles at her a little shyly, the length of his hair falling across his cheeks.

“Bucky! That’s awesome!” Darcy immediately sets her coffee down and envelops him in a hug. He wraps his big arms around her and she’s pulled into his broad chest enthusiastically.

“Yeah. It’s a heist movie – I think it’s gonna be pretty good. I started trainin’ last week.”

Darcy pulls back to look at his outfit – sweatpants, Nikes, and a loose t-shirt.

“Is that where you were today?”

Bucky peels off the lid of the cream cheese, licks a smear of it off the side of his thumb then nods.

“Weight liftin’, then Krav Maga, today. To be honest, everything hurts like a bitch,” he lets out a huff of self-deprecating laughter. “But it feels good, y’know? Like I’m back in control again.”

Darcy smiles, torn between wanting so much to smush his face and hug him again, but also wanting to have a selfish and self-pitying mope session. Bucky getting the role means their arrangement is going to plan, and if it’s working they’ll probably have to, as Jane said, end it soon. She had confidence in them but she didn’t think this would happen so quickly.

She should be happier for him. Why can’t she be happier for him? She tamps down her turmoil by drinking more coffee.

Bucky, unknowing of her inner crisis, rummages around the plastic bag.

“Huh. Don’t think they gave us silverware – plasticware, whatever.”

“I’ll get it.” Darcy heads to the kitchen, full of jittery and antsy energy. She opens her silverware drawer and lets out an annoyed breath when she discovers that all her knives are in the dishwasher. The dishwasher that hasn’t been run yet. Way to go, Darce, she tells herself. She retrieves one from the dishwasher and is in the middle of rinsing it in the sink when she hears a groan from her living room.

“You okay over there?” she calls out.

“Yeah, uh, must’ve hurt something earlier.”

“Gettin’ old, huh?” She snickers.

“More like gettin’ my ass kicked for three hours a day,” he counters dryly.

“Can I get you something? Ibuprofen?”

“Already took some. Can you help me with this other thing though?”

“Sure,” Darcy answers, drying the knife on a kitchen towel. In the living room, she nearly lets the knife clatter to the floor at the sight that greets her.

 

Bucky Barnes is shirtless.

This is what Darcy’s brain tells her.

_Bucky is not wearing a shirt._

Super casual, factually even, like ‘the sky is blue’ or ‘you will always spill mustard on a white shirt’. Except it’s not super casual because she’s staring at the expanse of skin and pecs and abs and oh god, those sweatpants are slung So. Very. Low. Even the clean seam of where his skin meets the silver metal of his left arm is _right there._

Bucky himself seems unperturbed that he is shirtless. Probably because he’s so used to seeing himself, Darcy thinks. That lucky bastard.

Oh, crap, he’s talking.

“ – just put it on my back?” he says, handing her a jar of what looks like salve of some kind. She sets the silverware down and takes the jar from him, blinking herself out of her reverie.

“This is gonna make my apartment smell all eye-wateringly minty, isn’t it?”

“But ma’am I’d be ever so grateful,” Bucky drawls, his big blue eyes like her Nana’s Precious Moments figurines.

He turns around to offer her his gorgeous sinewy back. Without him watching her she’s free to gaze at his trapezius, his muscular shoulders. There’s also the beginnings of one hell of a bruise forming between his shoulder blades, an awkward spot that he wouldn’t be able to reach.

The brushes her fingers over it and Bucky tenses for just a moment then relaxes. She grimaces at the pink-purple blotch and gently presses on it experimentally. Bucky squirms as if to inch away from her.

“Stop moving around so much, I’m palpating,” she chastises.

“Palpating?”

“Yep. I played a nurse once. Wore the uniform and everything.”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, ‘Yeah I bet you did.’

Darcy sighs. She twists open the lid on the jar and sure enough the strong scent of eucalyptus wafts up. She spreads the salve evenly over the bruise, her fingers gliding smoothly over his warm skin and Bucky lets out a low groan of appreciation. Darcy pulls her hand back before she gives in to the urge to massage it over his shoulders too, anything to draw that noise from him again.

Stop this right now, she tells herself.

She can’t help but admire the play of his muscles when he flexes his arms and back experimentally. As he pulls his t-shirt back on, Darcy scurries to go wash her hands in the kitchen sink, forbidding herself from turning to sneak more little glances at him.

Bucky has their food spread out and her TV on when she returns. His feet are propped up on the coffee table and one arm rests across the back of the couch, the remote in his other hand – he’s turned the sound up on _Speed_.

Rolling her eyes, she gives in and joins him on the couch, under his arm.  She sits cross-legged, her knee practically resting on his thigh and informs him, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ve left me an everything bagel.”

He did and they finish their coffees and bagels to the sound of gunfire and explosions.

Keanu Reeves is helping Sandra Bullock steer a city bus over a gap in a bridge when Bucky’s voice rumbles over the sound effects.

“So didja keep that nurse outfit or what?”

“Shut up, Bucky.”

 

\-------

 

Darcy wakes up in her own bed, over the covers. Her room is dark and the sequined dress she’s wearing is twisted around her uncomfortably but her heels are off. Oh, and her mouth tastes like roadkill that’s been left on the side of a desert road. Her ears are still stuffy and ringing a little from the music at the club.

Ah, right, the club.

The club that was actually one massive miscalculation.

She rolls and flops onto her back, trying and failing to stop the images from replaying themselves

Earlier that night, she’d cajoled Bucky into taking her there instead of the dinner he planned because, quite frankly, spending one-on-one time with him was not going to end well. Not that he isn’t good company but she’d been feeling nervy and restless around him lately which is dangerous. She figured she could dance it off in the very public venue of a nightclub. No more motorcycle daytrips or adventures in closets for her, no way.

Thanks to a number of shots and vodka tonics the earlier events of the evening she can only recall as a series of blurry images and feelings.

The dark club, neon lights flashing, bass thumping so hard she felt it in her chest.

Bucky securing them VIP section seats.

The both of them dancing, dizzy and sweaty, and his metal hand low on her stomach, then clutching at her hip.

Bucky crowding her on the couch, happily playing with hair or running a hand down the length of her bare arm while he sips at his own drink.

Her loopily calling for body shots, licking the salt off of Bucky’s wrist, the cold burn of tequila, sucking on a tart, fragrant lime from his mouth.

She runs both hands over her face, a whine forming at the back of her throat. What in the world made her think she could go dancing with Bucky Barnes _platonically?_ The next time they hang out they will be doing something supremely unsexy.

Like scrapbooking. Or taxidermy.

She uses the bathroom and takes the opportunity to wash down two preemptive ibuprofens with a glass of water. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and nearly cringes at the sight of herself in the mirror. Her smeared mascara and blotchy lipstick are washed off and a brush takes care of the bird’s nest masquerading as her hair but she’s still got pillow creases on the side of her face. Sexy.

She’s blearily shuffling back to her bedroom when her eyes catch on the form on her couch. There’s about six feet of action hero contorted into it, huddled under her thin chenille throw. She can see a tangle of dark hair poking out from the swath of blue fabric, and she feels a little bad for him because not only is the couch much too small, his ‘blanket’ also manages to cover him only to his shins.

Darcy tries to keep her footfalls soft as she approaches Bucky and gives him a nudge on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Bucky rasps to her when he blinks awake. He sleepily smiles up at her, eyes half-lidded and she can’t help but give him a little smile back. “Sleeping Beauty awakes.”

“I woke you up so I think that makes _you_ the Disney princess.”

Bucky hums, sitting up and wrapping her throw around him like a cape. He absently scratches at the stubble on his chin, and Darcy ponders how to word her question. She decides to just go for it.

“Alright, how sloppy drunk was I?” she blurts warily, actively avoiding looking at him. The thought of drunkenly word-vomiting her feelings to him makes her want to pack up and move to Antarctica.

It takes a moment for him to process her question. “What? We did shots, danced a little, then I took us home.”

Home. Darcy tries not to think too hard about the fact that Bucky called her apartment ‘home’. She settles for giving him a skeptical look.

“Okay, you passed out on me in the Uber,” Bucky says quickly. “I carried you up to the apartment. The driver literally did this - ” He makes a V of his index and middle fingers, points it at his own eyes, then at hers.

He adds, “I didn’t even know people did that in real life.”

Darcy continues to stand in front of him, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her decision was made as soon as she saw his sad little sleeping arrangement so she might as well go through with it.

“Get up.” She takes her throw from his shoulders and drapes it over the arm of her couch. He’s still sitting there forearms resting on his knees so she huffs, exasperated.

“You kickin’ me out?” Bucky runs a hand through his tousled hair and sends her a dejected stray puppy look.

Good gravy.

“No, goofball. There’s no need for you to twist yourself up all Cirque du Soleil on the couch when I have a perfectly good bed we can share.”

“I – Really?”

“Dude, yes,” she says firmly. “I’m an adult, you’re an adult. We’re just sleeping.”

Bucky blinks. Several times. “Okay.”

And with that they get ready for bed, Darcy changing into her taco cat print t-shirt and cotton sleep shorts over the sound of Bucky running the sink in the bathroom. She quickly gets under the covers and curls onto her side. From behind her, she can hear the faint rasping of fabric as Bucky gets ready for bed. She really, really hopes he’s not coming to bed shirtless but she can’t be sure because she is most certainly not gonna peek. There’s the small metallic clinking of him unbuckling his belt and the sound is so strangely intimate that Darcy shuts her eyes against it hard.

Finally, the room is thrown into darkness when Bucky slips under the covers with her and turns off the lamp on his side.

After a while laying on her side her arm gets uncomfortable so Darcy slowly turns over onto her back not wanting to jostle Bucky in case he’s already asleep.

Darcy stares at the ceiling, stiff and careful not to touch any part of her body to his even though earlier in the night many parts of his body touched numerous parts of hers.

The AC whirs and there’s the distant ticking of the clock in her living room. Darcy concentrates on breathing evenly, the rise and fall of her chest.

Bucky’s voice cuts through the stillness.

“So. My arms, huh?”

And just like that it slams into her:

_(“Buckaroo, I’ve got a secret,” she slurred into his neck as he carried her to the apartment. “I wanna lick your arms. Yep, they’re soooo nice. The right one and the silver. Toootally lickable. Shhhh! Don’t tell anyone!”)_

“Oh my god,” Darcy squeaks, mortified, while Bucky’s laughs shake the entire bed. She clutches the duvet over her blazing hot face. Maybe she didn’t have to pack her bags for Antarctica but somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere for sure.

“G’night, Darce.” Bucky reaches over to give her shoulder two little pats, still sounding like he’s trying to fight back a bubble of laughter. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

 

 

 

 

In the dim grey of early morning, she wakes up warm. Cozy. Comfy. She snuffles and shifts a little and then she’s wide awake.

The club.

Bucky.

And suddenly the reason for the warmth is all too clear. She’s usually one to kick the sheets and covers off during the night, waking up sometime in the morning to have to pull them over herself again. But it appears she doesn’t need to. Not with a very snuggly, very cuddly Bucky Barnes curled up behind her.

His metal arm, heavy as an anchor, is banded against her stomach and one very muscular, very male leg is draped over hers. Her heart pounds so hard she wonders if she’ll wake him with it.

She bites her lip.

“Shit,” she hisses under her breath then regrets it immediately because it makes Bucky _stir._

_Fuck! Double-shit!_ She internally screams at herself when Bucky’s fingers flex over her soft skin of her stomach.

“ _Mmsmellnice_ ,” Bucky sleepily mumbles right into her ear. Her eyes flutter closed and she shivers…and shivers more when he actually starts _nuzzling_ the back of her neck. He lets out a low, contented hum, grips her tighter, and then Darcy is listening to his deep, even breathing.

Still asleep, then.

Only when he pulls her closer he presses the length of his body against hers.

And _that_ is most definitely _not_ a mic wire.

Holy shit.

_That_ is unmistakably the hard ridge of his cock that lays thick against the curve of her ass. Lust pools heavy and delicious in her belly and for a moment she imagines rolling over, swinging a leg over his waist, and just riding him like a stolen pony -

No.

Absolutely not, she reprimands herself.

This is no good. She needs to get out of this bed right this minute before she needs new panties. As slowly and carefully as she can, she lifts the arm he has around her with no small amount of effort and inches toward the edge of the mattress. After minutes that feel like years, she’s finally able to untangle her legs from his.

Darcy stands as still as she can by the bed watching for any signs that she’s woken him.

But Bucky merely rolls over onto his other side, buries his face in a pillow, and mumbles something incoherent.

She lets out a breath of relief and after quickly grabbing a change of clothes, heads to the bathroom. She can still feel his body against hers like a phantom imprint, a sensation she’s trying her damndest to ignore.

In the shower with a clearer head, Darcy scrubs the loofah hard over her arms and legs. What was she thinking throwing herself all over Bucky at a nightclub? Body shots? Really? Her face flushes and not because she stands under the hot spray of water.

She can’t help but imagine a clock counting down to when they ‘break up’. They’ll go their separate ways, this Darcy knows, because she also knows she won’t be able to bear being his buddy when (and it is ‘when’ not ‘if’) he inevitably starts dating someone else. A person he’s not contracted to feign affection for, a person he doesn’t need to use to help his career.

Her heart aches with just thought of it.

She mentally writes new rules for herself. She resolves (again) to be better – no more unnecessary touching. Hands off unless in public where they can be seen and photographed.

No more extra hangouts. The only time they’ll spend together is when they have to make a joint appearance.

She takes a breath.

Yes. She can do this.

With automatic movements, she dries herself off and dresses, but when she returns to the bedroom Bucky isn’t in bed. A part of her hopes he’s already left so she can start following the rules immediately.

 

He’s in her kitchen.

He has his back to her when she emerges from the bedroom, muscles bunching under a white undershirt as he stirs something delicious smelling on the stove. He’s whistling along with whatever’s softly playing on the radio. _Whistling,_ of all things.  It’s all so domestic, so effortless – as if he does this for her every day, like maybe after this they’ll go to the farmer’s market, or even better, back to bed. Her stomach does a little swoop.

Tell him he needs to leave, that you want to be alone, she tells herself, but all her words die in her throat when he turns around to give her a sweet grin that lights up the whole of his face.

“Hey. Just in time. Where’re your plates?”

She retrieves them from her cabinet and Bucky spoons mounds of what looks like scrambled eggs onto each of their plates. Darcy also reaches into the fridge and gets some orange juice to pour into two tall glasses.

She didn't think she was hungry before, but the aroma is reminding her that she skipped a real dinner for tequila and limes and bad decisions.

“Can you hand me the rest of that cheese?” Bucky gestures to the bag of shredded cheese on the far end of her counter.

She hands him the bag, their fingers brushing, and Darcy jerks her hand back immediately. Bucky gives her a strange look but says nothing, instead busying himself with topping their eggs and then helping her wipe down her counters.

They bring their food to her living room, Darcy quiet the whole time with Bucky seeming to follow her lead.

He catches her eyes with his, amused at first then concerned at the serious, distracted expression on her face.

He reaches a hand out towards her shoulder but then pulls it back instead, dropping his hand and curling his fingers into a loose fist. He watches her, considering.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, breaking eye contact and arranging their plates on her coffee table. “Yes, of course.”

Bucky frowns, and scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip as his shoulders hunch just a little. He pauses for a moment, cocks his head, then asks her softly.

“I didn’t, uh, act weird at all when I was sleepin’ did I?”

“Weird? No. No, not…weird.” _His legs tangled up with hers, his arms around her, the heat and weight of him against her back when he holds her tighter._ “Um. Cuddly, maybe.”

Bucky’s hunched shoulders relax and he lets out a small breath. “Sorry, I – Sometimes I thrash around in my sleep. Thought I mighta given you a scare or somethin’.”

Darcy blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah, uh. Every once in a while, I’ll still have nightmares. Of fallin’. Of wakin’ up in the middle of surgery. Not as often anymore, but…” he trails off, suddenly very interested in the haphazard pile of DVDs by her tv.

“Jesus, did you? Wake up in the middle of, of – “

“I don’t think so.” His expression shifts, then, “Don’t think I ever showed up to the first day of school naked either, but...” He sends her a playful sideways glance and just like that the tension evaporates.

“ _Bucky.”_ Darcy’s tone is exasperated but she grabs on to the opportunity for levity.

Bucky shrugs, the corner of his mouth ticked up. Eventually he gestures to their still full plates and says, “So I slave all mornin’ over a hot stove and you’re just gonna let the food get cold, huh?”

Ten seconds later, Darcy is having a religious experience.

“Ohmygod this is amazing,” Darcy says around a mouthful of egg and cheese and veggies; it’s like scrambled eggs but better. She’s shovels another bite into her mouth, not caring at all that she must look like a cavewoman.

“Yeah? Glad you like it. Had this stuff in Austin. Catering made it some mornings, and after a night out on 6th Street it’s just what we needed.”

“S’good,” she compliments.

They finish up their meal and Darcy once again cannot seem to make the moves required to get him to leave. Bucky appears content to hang out with her on the couch and she still feels like kind of a heel for making him think his nightmares were what made her act so weird earlier.

And who kicks someone out after they make you a delicious breakfast? Especially when they’re so snuggly and affectionate after?

Fuck it, she thinks. Just one day. One last day.

When she finally leans into him, he lifts his arm so that she’s pressed against his side. Eventually, he just easily rests it over her shoulders, his fingers periodically feathering through her hair.

They sit on her couch in the yellow patch of morning light that comes through her blinds, drinking their orange juice to the subdued sound of the traffic reports on the radio.

 

It’s feels natural.

Easy as pie.

 

 

She is so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Sooo…you might have noticed I’ve put a final chapter count on this fic. Yay!
> 
> \- The ‘mic wire’ comment is a reference to [this](http://gawker.com/idris-elba-confirms-it-was-not-a-dick-or-what-1618703875). (btw let’s all salute the writer of that article who managed to get the phrase, ‘dong the size of a meatball sub’ published.)
> 
> \- The meal Bucky makes Darcy after their night out is ‘migas’. The South Texas version is eggs, a bunch of veggies (onions, peppers, cilantro etc.), cheese, and leftover slightly stale strips of tortillas. 
> 
> \- I hope it’s not too gauche to advertise your other fics on your current one lol. If you’d like a Wintershock fluffy oneshot, _Gift Shop_ can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11171517).
> 
> \- I’m on [tumblr](https://sachertortes.tumblr.com/). Come say hi! :D


	9. Chapter 9

For as long as she lives, Darcy is quite sure that she will never experience a sight more hilarious than the one in front of her – 200-plus lbs. of action star being knocked right onto his ass by an enormous grey and white dog.

Said enormous dog is currently the ward of Furry Friends Animal Shelter.

The exception to what she's been calling Rule Number Two (no extra hangouts, joint appearances only) has come up in the form of an appearance at Furry Friends Animal Shelter, a small no-kill animal shelter she donates to every year. Clint had told her that in thanks for her contributions they would love for her to come to their Volunteer Appreciation BBQ. The shelter also hinted that if she would like to bring a guest – and how she’d smirked at that one, ‘and guest’ clearly meant Bucky Barnes – she would be most welcome to.

So she and Bucky had shown up, were immediately gifted matching turquoise Furry Friends Animal Shelter t-shirts, and posed in front of a logo printed backdrop for photographers. From there they were led on a tour of the facility - from the Cat Socialization Room (where a fluffy white kitten the size of Darcy’s fist decides it likes shiny things and dive bombs Bucky’s left hand from its perch on the cat tree), the Small Animal Room (Darcy declares the hamsters so cute she’ll sneak a bunch of them in her purse before she leaves – she’s only just a little bit kidding), and the attached clinic, to the actual barbecue where the adoption-ready dogs and puppies are hanging out on a small lawn with the volunteers.

A huge charcoal grill is fired up, blowing up delicious smelling smoke. It’s nothing fancy, just burgers and hot dogs, but she saw Bucky put away at least three of those already so clearly they didn’t have to get too upmarket.

“Little help?” Bucky says dryly, glancing at Darcy who is holding herself up with one hand on the rough bark of a tree and the other covering her smile.

“Why should I? You’re making new friends.”

Judging from his eyebrows he’s glaring at her from beneath his crooked Ray-Bans which makes Darcy giggle even more.

“Oh! Merlin, no!” exclaims one of the volunteers – her nametag says ‘Clara’ -  as she attempts to pull back on the dog’s collar. It’s about as effective as trying to shove a boulder. “I’m so sorry. He’s not aggressive, he just thinks he’s everyone’s best friend.”

As if to prove the point, Merlin places one large shaggy paw on Bucky’s knee and pants happily into his face. Bucky cringes away from the dog breath but does reach his hand through the unruly fur to give Merlin a few good scratches behind a floppy ear.

“This ain’t a dog, it’s a horse with a flea collar,” Bucky grumbles as he tries and fails to push Merlin away from nosing at his face.

Clara grins, her face lighting up, making her deep laugh lines more apparent. Her salt and pepper curly hair is tied back in a low ponytail and she looks at Bucky and his “new friend” with kind eyes. She wears a long flowy paisley-patterned skirt and colorful bracelets.

“Close enough. He’s an Irish Wolfhound.” Clara sighs and places her fists at her waist, her numerous bracelets jangling with the movement. “Merlin! _Sit.”_

Merlin immediately obeys, large pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. Darcy takes the opportunity to go help Bucky to his feet, righting his sunglasses and patting down his hair for good measure – it looks especially shiny and lush in the sunny afternoon light, she can’t help it. Bucky brushes a hand over the seat of his pants and looks mournfully at his dropped paper plate on the grass, the contents of which are currently being enthusiastically hoovered up by a Puggle who comes by to see what the commotion is about. Bucky picks up his plate and the remaining food on it, and gives a longing look to the grill by the outdoor tent.

“Bucky, when we came here I didn’t think you’d get mauled by the local wildlife. First the cat and now Merlin?” Darcy teases.

“That kitten had it out for me and you know it.”

“Sir Whiskers was only defending his territory against the evil shiny enemy invader.”

“Do you have any pets, Miss Lewis?” Clara asks, after giving the two of them a bemused little look. She leans down to hook a leash onto Merlin’s collar who immediately decides to test the length of his lead by trotting over to sit by Bucky.

“Oh, no. With my schedule the way it is, I don’t think I’d be a very good pet mom right now. And please, just call me Darcy.”

“Well, Darcy, if you’re ever thinking about adopting a dog definitely give us a call. I bet I could figure out just the kind of buddy you need.”

“Could you?”

“Of course!” Clara gives her a considering look. “Now let me see.” She looks Darcy up and down, appearing very much like a fortune teller. “Mabel might be just the girl for you! She’s a King Charles Spaniel mix. At least that’s what we think she is. You need a dog who’s energetic but also…sweet, not afraid to cuddle up with you on the couch.”

Darcy nearly chokes on the laughter that wants to come spilling from her. Clara has described the perfect pup but also basically described Bucky and lord knows they’ve done their share of cuddling on the couch.

“How do you know?” asks Darcy.

“Do this for a while and you become sort of like a…matchmaker for people and their dogs. I know and notice a lot of things. Like how Mr. Barnes over there has been sneaking bits of hot dog to Merlin.” She nods over to where Bucky is hastily pulling his hand back from Merlin’s mouth. The opportunity for subterfuge is ruined when Merlin begins enthusiastically chomping on his piece of hot dog.

“Um.” Bucky is slightly wide-eyed at being caught. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Clara smiles at Bucky’s guilty expression. “Merlin’s still a young guy, he can have treats every now and then.”

They all laugh when Merlin’s entire head jolts up at the mere mention of ‘treats’.

“But it is a warm day and he’ll need some water.” Clara winds the leash around her hand a couple times and begins leading Merlin towards the tent where buckets of water for the dogs are set out. “C’mon, big guy.”

They all make their way to the tents, where Merlin gets his drink of water, Darcy finishes a cup of strawberry lemonade, and Bucky gets a burger.

“I should really be donating more money to these guys if you’re gonna be eating them out of house and home, so to speak,” Darcy jokes before chucking her plastic cup in a trash can.

“Hilarious,” Bucky says, word muffled around a massive bite of burger. He holds it out to her, eyebrows raised questioningly. “Try some?”

Darcy delicately wraps her fingers around his wrist to hold his hand steady as she takes a bite.

“Mmm.” All of the fancy, dressed up Kobe beef burgers on artisanal bread still can’t beat a plain burger grilled over charcoal on a warm summer day. She licks at the corner of her mouth at an errant spot of ketchup.

“Good?” Bucky gives her a little grin just this side of dirty that makes Darcy need another drink.

 

Later, Darcy, one hand shading her eyes against the bright glare of the sun, watches as Bucky and some volunteers roughhouse with a group of dogs of all different sizes and (mixed) breeds. She likes that huge smile he gets on his face, like he just can’t help himself, as he picks up various brightly colored toys and throws them for the dogs to fetch. The ones that don’t run off to chase stay behind to accept pets and scratches from him. She wonders if maybe he shouldn’t get a dog.

He turns to her, flashing a broad white-toothed grin under his sunglasses and she can’t help but grin back. Bucky jogs towards her, trailing behind him one butterscotch colored puffball that zips rapidly past him and straight to her.

Darcy manages to intercept and scoop up the tiny Pomeranian in her arms and it yaps happily while attempting to lick at any skin it can get at. Darcy cranes her face away giggling.

“Oh, aren’t you the prettiest, cutest puppy! Little – “ Darcy coos and reaches in its fur to take a hold of the name tag attached to the collar and bursts out laughing. “- _Viggo!”_

“Real tough guy, huh?” Bucky reaches his hand over stroke over the dog’s long fur too, his fingers momentarily tangling with hers. Viggo responds by wriggling energetically under all the attention. Bucky looks to Darcy with a warm expression that makes her heart stutter just a little.

“You’re lookin’ a little pink.” Bucky’s brows furrow when he looks her over. Gently, he takes her elbow. “Let’s get under some shade.”

He guides her, still clutching Viggo to her chest, under a big oak tree. It is indeed a little cooler under the shade and Darcy bends down to let little Viggo zoom off to play with the other dogs. When her arms are free Bucky shoves a bottle of water into her hands.

“I promise I don’t have cooties,” he jokes. Darcy smiles and takes a drink, letting the cool water run down her throat.

“So... Steve is actually showin’ some of his artwork on Friday. You think you might wanna come?”

Darcy bites her lip. She knows she shouldn’t be spending more time than necessary with Bucky, and Steve’s art showing is certainly not an official couple’s appearance. But it’s Steve. Steve who was so nice and kind to her at that terrible first meeting with Bucky. She nervously takes another sip of water. This Rules thing is way more difficult than she imagined it would be. She tries to take a professional stance the only way she knows how.

“Is there going to be press there or should I give Clint a call? Would Steve mind that we’re bringing paparazzi with us? I don’t want to make his big day about us.”

Bucky looks taken aback for a second. “If you want,” he utters slowly, cautiously. He crosses his arms over his chest and drops his gaze the ground. “I’ll uh, I’ll leave it up to you I guess. The showing is strictly invite only though, so no one’s getting in unless they’re supposed to be there.”

A knot in her stomach that feels a lot like guilt starts to take shape.

“Well, if you’d like me to be there – “ Darcy offers, taking a carefree tone. She shrugs and rolls the bottle of water between her hands.

“’Course I would.”

“Then I’ll call Clint.” They haven’t had to call paparazzi in a long while and she’s dreading it.

“Okay. Fine.”

By now, Darcy has had some experience in watching for the tells in Bucky’s face. And she knows that despite his even, low tone and calm features something a lot like irritation is starting to bleed through. She’s annoyed at herself too, honestly.

“Hey. Don’t worry, Barnes. We’ve had plenty of practice. I know for a fact that we’re both pretty good actors,” says Darcy, forcing sickly sweet cheer and deliberately misinterpreting his look.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, the lines tight around his eyes. “I guess we are.”

Bucky stalks off towards the tent, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

Darcy stares after him feeling like the worst kind of asshole. Some of the volunteers begin lead the dogs back to their kennels for the day. She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. Somehow, she also feels like she belongs in the dog house.

 

 

\-------

 

 

It turns out that she actually didn’t have to call Clint for an assist, for which Darcy is grateful. The last thing she wants is to ruin Steve’s gallery showing by arriving with a bevy of reporters and cameras. Instead, Natasha of all people texted her to let her know that there would be one or two hired photographers for the event – a gallery showing of pieces by local artists sponsored by the Rand Foundation for Fine Arts. Natasha had sounded abrupt actually - or at least as abrupt one can be via the medium of texting.

At any other time Darcy would worry about potentially offending the great Natasha Romanoff but she had, at one point, been shown a picture of Natasha getting to try on Misty Copeland’s tutu, face lit up in fangirl glee. Anyone who looked that joyful about wearing tulle and ruffles couldn’t be _that_ terrifying, right?

Darcy’s standing in front a watercolor of wind chimes, tamping down the urge to roll her eyes when she reads about how the artist paints the same set over and over to represent his conflicting emotions over his numerous ex-wives. She stands alone because although they arrived together Bucky had been distant and standoffish towards her the whole night, separating himself from her side almost the minute they walked through the door. She supposes she deserves it for how she tried to make a night out supporting a friend into a PR opportunity.

~~~~While she’s contemplating whether marital strife could (or should) be expressed via garden décor, Steve sidles up to her. He’s wearing a navy blue, single breasted suit, and he flashes her a warm smile which she heartily returns. ~~~~

“Steve!” Darcy exclaims, happy for some company. “Congratulations, dude.” He draws her into a quick hug where she playfully thumps his back – wow, it’s like hitting cement or something - and he takes it like a champ.

“Thanks, Darcy. Did you come here with Bucky?” He sounds curious but not cautious so Darcy guesses that Bucky hasn’t spoken to him yet.

“Yeah, I did. Sort of lost him though.” She doesn’t mention that the gallery space isn’t truly big enough to ‘lose’ anyone and it’s more likely that her date is just avoiding her entirely.

Steve rolls his eyes with fond exasperation. “Thought I saw him brooding in the corner with the metal flower sculpture a minute ago.”

“That thing’s supposed to be a flower? I thought it was a spaceship! Don’t tell anyone, Steve, but you’re my favorite artist here. No metal spaceships, no depressing wind chime watercolors.”

Steve laughs. “Thanks, I think. Can I interest you in some depictions of New York City landmarks?” Darcy follows him to one of his works displayed on a white gallery wall.

It’s a moody painting of a fountain in the middle of a small courtyard, done mostly in greys and slates. The stone is cracking in places and even the snow that rests on the wings of the angel on top of the fountain seems slightly dingy.

“It’s the fountain in back of our apartment complex in Brooklyn,” Steve says. “It’s supposed to be a miniature version of the Bethesda Fountain. Building manager wanted it to class up the place – “

“ – But if he really wanted to do that he shoulda fixed the damn leaky pipes in winter,” finishes Bucky, as he shuffles up to them.

He comes to stand next to her, so close she thinks she can feel the heat radiating off of him, the closest he’s been to her all night. He places a hand on her lower back and she lets herself lean into the gentle pressure. A reminder that despite their recent tensions, they’re still supposed to be a happy couple in everyone else’s eyes.

“Wait,” Darcy says, gears turning in her head. “’Our’ apartment?”

“Yeah, we grew up together. Got in a lot of trouble together too. Bucky ever told about the time he got in this fountain?”

“Aw, don’t start – “ Bucky grumbles, glaring sideways towards Steve.

“What, no, no, I want to hear about this!” Darcy chimes in.

“So it involved alcohol and a lost bet.”

“Of course it did.”  Darcy nods sagely.

“Bucky loses and the bet was he had to go stand naked in the fountain – “ Steve explains.

“This was the middle of the goddamn night, mind you – “

“- and sing the National Anthem. If he could get to the end without getting caught, we’d give his money back.”

“So I’m down to my skivvies, in the damn water, and Dugan and Morita are hollerin’ at me so loud I’m thinkin’ the entire complex’ll wake up any minute –“

“And we’ll all be arrested for public intoxication.”

“And indecent exposure,” Bucky adds.  “Then I heard the security guards show up – “

“They weren’t guards, it turned to be a couple walking their dogs!”

“I didn’t know that! Anyways, I hauled ass outta there and hid behind some bushes.”

“And…” Steve prompts, rocking on his heels and grinning like the best is yet to come.

Bucky sighs, sliding his gaze to Darcy. “And it turns out I was hiding bare ass naked in a patch of poison ivy. Must’ve gone through a whole bottle of calamine that week.”

The thought of a naked Bucky covered in pale pink calamine lotion is too much for Darcy and she lets out an improper snort, quickly turning into badly concealed giggles that causes some other patrons to stare.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Bucky says even as the corners of his mouth curve up in shared mirth. “You just had to paint _this_ fountain huh, punk?” he says to Steve. “You want me to tell her about that time with the Mermaid Parade at Coney Island? ‘Cause I can.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Steve says with finality and a wry smile. “I’m told I should convince some rich people to buy stuff.” He leans down to give Darcy a friendly kiss on her cheek. He clasps Bucky’s arm briefly and Darcy catches the tail end of some significant look between the two men as he takes off.

And with that she’s left with her slowly but surely dissipating confidence. Also, Bucky. Which is fine. Totally fine.

They both stand in front of Steve’s painting but before the silence can get truly awkward, Bucky’s voice cuts through it.

“Let me get you a drink.” He trails his fingers along her waist before heading towards a waiter. To her surprise he actually comes back. He has little plastic cups of white wine for both of them. “Figured we might need these if we’re gonna mingle tonight.”

Darcy takes her drink from him with a tentative smile. “Thanks.”

Bucky clears his throat and in a gesture that’s almost bashful, holds out an elbow to her. She takes it, resting her hand on the crook of his arm, happy to have him close again.

“Stay with me?” he asks as he navigates them through other milling patrons and towards _Study on Wind Chime #5._

Darcy nods, falling in step with him. “Sure, of course.”

Bucky leans into her, as if sharing a secret, and Darcy gets the faint whiff of his aftershave.

“Thanks. I saw the way that metal sculptor was lookin’ at my arm. Shifty as hell,” he says with a wink and Darcy giggles as she sips at chilled Chardonnay.

 

 

\-------

 

 

Bucky steers the car onto to the highway as droplets of rain hit the windshield with little plops.

The car cocoons them from the thick dark of the evening and they’re both in a quiet mood. Bucky seems almost pensive and has been since they left the gallery, the relaxed manner between them waning as soon as they were away from cameras and onlookers.

Darcy’s week stretches ahead of her and it feels almost empty. Clint hasn’t scheduled anything new and she’s forbidding herself from entertaining the thought of filling that time with Bucky.

But oh, how she wants to. Tonight, when she listened as he and Steve lobbed old stories back and forth or even as they chit-chatted with other patrons, there was a simplicity to it that Darcy fell back into with ease. It’s almost funny how no matter how many times and how much distance she’s tried to place between them, they still find their way back to one another – like planets in each other’s orbits. She nearly smiles at the Jane-ism that has snuck into her maudlin thoughts.

Almost from the start, pretending to be Bucky’s girlfriend had been surprisingly easy, and admittedly fun. But then Bucky is easy to be with – funny and sweet and caring and he makes her stomach do some kind of flippy thing whenever he flirts with her.

She bites back an aggravated sigh. Shouldn’t this whole thing be easier? Shouldn’t she be happier now that it looks like he’ll treat her with the polite distance she wanted? But no, of course not. Effectively freezing him out one minute and having to play up their relationship the next is making her head spin. Sometimes she thinks this would’ve been easier if he was a jerk, the kind of guy she normally wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Then they could have their public life and they’d go their separate ways to live their private ones. A clear delineation, not this messed-up blurry version of a relationship they have now.

She feels pretty pathetic. Pining after a guy who’s sitting right next her, a guy she’s not even supposed to want. Sometimes she thinks he might want her too, but an ugly voice inside her keeps reminding her of contracts, of the agreement, of the fact that his job entails making people love him. She’s not dumb – she knows people can get caught up in the pretending, in the make believe. It’s why so many romances begin on-set. The problem is, the cameras eventually turn off, the magic fades, and it never ends pretty.

Her eyes get hot and her throat achy - the tell-tale signs of a good cry coming on. Great.

She tries to hold it back for as long as she can, turning her face towards the window to pretend to be watching the highway pass by, but of course trying to keep from crying makes it worse. Two traitorous hot tears make their way down her cheeks.

It’s getting harder to breathe through her nose and she can’t help one disloyal sniffle from escaping. At the sound, Bucky turns from the road to dart his eyes to her.

“Shit,” he curses. Then, at the sight of her splotchy face and the tears making their way down to her chin he adds, “Ah, sweetheart – “

And to her mortification, those words just make her cry even _more._

“Darcy,” Bucky says. “Darce – “

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she insists around a throat thick with tears. She wrenches open her clutch and rummages around for Kleenex. Wallet, lipsticks, keys, approximately five million receipts, and no tissue. She’s getting more and more harried, now biting her lip to keep a sob from escaping when finally, when she finds it.

Bucky takes the next exit and makes a sharp, hard turn into some random parking lot. He puts the vehicle in park while she’s rapidly soaking through the one tissue she has with her muffled sobs and runny nose.

Eventually she manages to take some ragged breaths.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry I’ve been weird lately,” she croaks. She can’t even look at him, afraid the tears will start again when she sees his face. She concentrates on staring at the glove compartment instead, wringing her tissue to little shreds.  “It’s just that I…I…”

“What?” Bucky asks, voice soft, urgency threading through his word. She finally turns to him and his eyes are dark as they search hers under the dim overhead light of the car.

_I like the way you look at me,_ she wants to say. _I miss you when you’re not around taking up space on my couch, messing up the Netflix queue. I miss your hugs. I think I’m falling for you, Bucky Barnes, and I think you feel the same way._

But all that comes out is, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky lets out a long, slow breath and unbuckles his seatbelt with a ‘click’. He stretches his arm across to her seat, resting his hand the passenger side headrest.

“C’mere.”

So she does, unbuckling her own seatbelt and shuffling closer to him, under his arm, breathing in the familiar smell of him and letting the sound of the rain fill her ears.

His hand tangles into her hair, cool fingers gently stroking the nape of her neck and despite the awkward angle of having to lean across the center console, she turns a little to press the side of her cheek into his shoulder. He presses a kiss to her temple, his lips soft on her overheated skin and she wants to pocket this moment forever, to keep it somewhere secret and safe so she can pull it out again on a lonely day when she’s without him.

“I know this hasn't been easy,” he murmurs when her breathing has calmed and her tears have mostly stopped. “The…pretending.”

Darcy fists her hand around the tissue and wants to scream because yes, it _has_ been hard but not for the reasons he thinks.

Bucky continues. “We’ve had a lot going on lately. I’ll call Natasha. Clint, too. Tell ‘em to lay off for a while. Okay?”

“’Kay,” she sniffles.

For a moment or two, they both stare out of the window, at the rain that's falling heavier by the minute and the headlights of the cars that drive by.

“Remember when we first met?” His breath stirs her hair.

“You mean when you took one look at me and basically said ‘no thanks’?”

“I did. But probably not for the reason you think. I told Steve I didn’t want to do this with you, I _couldn’t_ do this with you because you seemed so _young.”_

Darcy snorts.

“Not that way. Just – When Nat had floated some names around for this we were hopin’ you’d bite _because_ you hadn’t been doing the LA thing for very long. We were wantin’ someone who needed this as much as I did. I was still hiding away, there were days when I just didn’t leave the house. I didn’t know how to get out there again, but I knew that whoever I partnered up with would have to shoulder a lot of my baggage too. Then you walked in, wearin’ that yellow dress, lookin’ so _happy_  just to be there – and I - I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t let _me_ happen to you.”

Bucky pauses, takes a breath, and Darcy stays silent waiting for him to continue.

“But…then you yelled at me in my own home,” he laughs.

“I did,” Darcy says confidently. She smiles at the memory of the stunned look on Bucky’s face when she dressed him down. “And I’d do it again, Barnes.”

He chuckles, the movement slight jostling her. “I’ll keep that in mind. You’re a lot stronger than I gave you credit for that day. Stronger than you think, darlin’. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be where you are today.”

She cranes her neck to look out the rain-blurred windshield at the neon sign of a fast food place. She squints.

“Where? Sobbing in a Del Taco parking lot?”

“No. A successful actress, an amazing person…top notch Pomeranian wrangler.”

Darcy lets out a watery laugh, cheeks flushing. Bucky turns to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling at her fondly. She feels his eyes on her as she takes another steadying breath and squares her shoulders.

“Ready to go?”

Darcy nods. She is.

She feels the way she always does after a cry – wretched and wrung-out and sleepy. So she lets her eyes close while Bucky drives.

When he drops her off at her apartment, he gives her another worried glance. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Or I will be. I just need some time,” she tells him. Then with a little twist in her heart, adds, “Alone.”

He tilts her chin up with his fingers so she’s looking straight into his eyes.

“Alright,” Bucky says with something like resignation. He strokes the line of her jaw with his thumb and gives her a crooked smile. “Stay outta trouble, trouble.”

 

 

 

She meant it when she said ‘alone’. Darcy avoids him, and obeys Rule Number Two as much as she can.

 

But it turns out that Bucky is a tough habit to break. She’ll be going about her business and every time something weird, or funny, or interesting happens, her first instinct is still to share it with Bucky.

She sees a woman on the sidewalk pushing a hot pink enclosed stroller. Peeking inside though, she finds not a baby but two white ferrets curled up together. She’s gleeful when the lady lets her snap a picture and her thumb is hovering over the ‘send’ button before she’s even thought about it. She jabs her phone off, irritated with herself.

It happens again when she’s at the grocery store and she picks up a bag of peanuts with a warning label that just reads “Warning: Contains Peanuts”. Again, she doesn’t let herself send the text.

 

 

So she’s happy for the distraction of a photoshoot with Glamour magazine. There’s no real article, just a little blurb that will appear next to the photographs telling readers what her favorite romantic comedy is (a tie between _The Shop Around the Corner_ and _13 Going on 30)_ or what her beach read is this summer.

They have her in a patterned Miu Miu sundress, lounging luxuriously by a dark blue infinity pool, accessorized with both cat-eye sunglasses and a tan, hunky male model fanning her with a palm frond.

She has an assistant snap a picture before posting it onto Instagram. When she checks it later she sees that Bucky has not only liked it but left a comment consisting of a series of heart-eyed cats. That definitely raises an eyebrow because she knows for a fact that he never uses his social media. The only reason he even has them is so he can claim the username. His Instagram currently only has one post – a regram of the photo used in the Vanity Fair article.

It figures that the only time a boyfriend of hers so diligently keeps up with her social media, he’s not even really a boyfriend.

 

 

Clint sends her some scripts to look over. There’s one that’s supposed to be an atmospheric Southern Gothic that comes off schlocky instead of spooky and she nixes it immediately, relishing the freedom and opportunity to do so. The next one looks much more promising – a dramedy with an ensemble cast rumored to include some female vets of Saturday Night Live. She tells Clint to throw her hat into the ring for that one.

 

 

She eats a bowl of sugary cereal while staying up late to catch Bucky on Jimmy Kimmel Live. They play well off each other and the audience clearly loves Bucky with his dry humor and good looks. The camera manages to capture the way his blue eyes sparkle when he’s about to tell a joke, the way his smile is still shy even after all this time when someone compliments him. Darcy doesn’t know whether to be sad or happy when Bucky avoids talking about their relationship by smoothly changing the subject.

 

 

Then one night when she’s eating takeout straight from the container her phone pings.

 

Her gut twists, lurches as she reads the two sentences in the text over and over. As much as she had prepared for this, expected it, even wished for it in the beginning, it’s not a substitute for the very real thing. The Breakup.

 

**N. Romanoff:** _Ready to implement Phase 3 when you are. Barnes’ statement is already prepared._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr [here](https://sachertortes.tumblr.com/)! Come say hi :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW :)

_Ready to implement Phase 3 when you are. Barnes’ statement is already prepared._

 

Darcy holds her phone in her hands, palms sweaty.

Her heart feels like it’s about to stumble madly right out of her chest. This shouldn’t be a surprise. For the past couple of weeks despite not being seen together, their careers have seemed to be succeeding on their own.

She opens her laptop and takes a shaky breath, biting her lip. With a couple of clicks, she’s got her e-mail open and Clint’s name in the address box - but she still can’t do it.

She remembers what Bucky once said about the details of his career being ironed out by Natasha.

“Terrifyingly efficient.”

Yeah. That’s what it feels like now. She only needs to send one sentence to Clint and all of this will be over. They’ll go their separate ways, and sure, there will probably be a media circus but maybe for just a week, tops. They’re not exactly Brangelina. They won’t see each other again – she’ll make sure of that. She won’t have to think of him again.

But then, little signs of him are still all over her apartment. She nearly tears the space apart hunting and picking out his things among hers. His maroon hoodie is draped over the arm of her couch (she wears it sometimes, it’s lined with the softest fleece and has the gigantic pockets that’s the hallmark of men’s clothing, sue her), his earbuds lie in a tangle on the entryway table, the Scrabble set is on her bookshelf. His Zelazny paperbacks are in her kitchen for some reason, and three bottles of his favorite beer are in her fridge. She’s totally keeping the beers, she thinks petulantly.

She places his things into an old Amazon box to give back to him. It’s the time-honored tradition of the break up after all, even though there really wasn’t a relationship to break up. The hoodie will be the hardest to let go of. She wistfully runs her fingers along the front zipper.

Her eyes are a little achy when picking up her phone to text Bucky. She touches her fingers to her cheek and they come away damp. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying the whole time she was packing. She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at herself. _Woman up, Darcy._ She hastily wipes away the remnants of her tears and begins typing on her phone.

 

**Darcy:** U left some of ur stuff @ my place. U home?

**Bucky:** Yes. My home though. Not Steve’s place.

 

And _fuck,_ Darcy’s heart absolutely _sinks._ He’s moved back already. In the weeks they’d spent apart he’d told Natasha to end the arrangement and already moved out of the city. Away from her.

This is the way it’s supposed to be, she tells herself. A clean break.

She can do this.

Darcy gives her face a splash with cool water and changes out of her sloppy pajamas and into some comfortable yoga pants and a t-shirt. She feels something approximating calm by the time she has the box of Bucky’s things under one arm as she unlocks the door to her car.

It’s the middle of the night when she drives up the winding roads into the Hills, with only her headlights lighting the way. The cardboard box rests in the passenger seat of the car, ominous, bomb-like. The city’s lights glitter in the distance as she admittedly takes the turns a little too fast and fiddles with the radio too much.

Finally, she pulls up to the gates of his home announcing herself into the intercom box. She slowly pulls into the gravel driveway just like she and Clint did seemingly a million years before on that sunny day of their first meeting.

When he opens the door, the box begins tipping away from her and she brings up a knee to nudge it back into her hands.

“Hey, Darce. Let me get that for you.”

“No, no. I’m fine,” she answers angling just a little bit away from him. “Just tell me where I can set it down.”

She follows him inside and it occurs to her that she’s only been here once. The space is lit with the yellow glow of a floor lamp and recessed lighting, not the streams of sunlight that came through the floor to ceiling windows like the last time she visited. Outside, the night encloses them in inky black.

When he motions to the couch, she places the box down on a seat cushion with a thump and turns to look at him. Bucky is wearing navy blue flannel sleep pants and a grey t-shirt and Darcy is reminded that she basically demanded to be let into his home in the middle of the night. There’s a dogeared script on the coffee table and an uncapped yellow highlighter rests next to it. A glass with the remnants of some amber liquid inside is dripping condensation onto the table.

“Sorry.” Darcy winces a little, pulls at the hem of her shirt then crosses her arms over her chest. “I, um, wasn’t really thinking when I came over here.”

Bucky brows knit together as he takes her in. “It’s okay, it’s fine.” He nods at the box she unceremoniously placed on his couch. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, feeling awkward as hell. “You’re welcome.”

She wonders how she should make a graceful exit. Fight or Flight is making her jittery and her skin feel tight. The last time she ‘fought’ she ended up TMZ fodder and got herself into this mess in the first place so she’s leaning towards flight.

Bucky seems content to have her stay despite being imposed upon in the middle of the night though, and gives her a little smile before beginning to rummage through the box.

“Hey! I was wonderin’ where these were!” he exclaims as he pulls out his earphones. He sets them to the side and Darcy reaches in to hand him the Scrabble board which he takes with both hands.

“Aw. Thought we were gonna do best four outta five.” He laughs, the wooden tiles clunking cheerily inside the box as he gives it a shake. Darcy smiles weakly in response, and Bucky places the boardgame on his coffee table.

God, how can he be so casual about this? Doesn’t he feel any way about this at all? Maybe he thinks he can just keep coming over being all… _handsy_ even when they’ve ended things, which if he does he definitely has another thing coming.

Next up is the hoodie which Darcy can’t help but reach for before he can get to it. He arches an amused brow at the sight of her holding it to herself. She has every intention of giving it back, she really does, just in a little bit.

“What’s with the delivery service?” Bucky asks, at the same time Darcy prepares to hand over his hoodie and manages to spit out, “Okay, goodbye I guess.”

Darcy’s face scrunches in confusion when she processes his question.

“Delivery – Bucky, it’s over,” she explains softly. Now it’s his turn to look confused as he takes a step closer to her and she looks into those eyes she’s going to miss so much. She retreats back a step, his proximity unsettling her in some way. “Natasha said you already have the Phase 3 statement prepared and…and – ”

Oh, she can’t do this. She’s almost annoyed at him now. Why is he making her explain this?

“Well, yes,” Bucky answers, and Darcy feels a little sick. “But Darce…we’ve had that written up since the beginning. Y’know, in case one of us wanted out.”

Darcy blinks, the shock making her mind reel. “It was already written?” She clutches her hands into the fabric reflexively as her heart beats double-time. “But – ”

“Is that what’s rilin’ you up, sweetheart?” Bucky tilts his head down to try to catch her gaze and when he can’t he moves closer to her, reaching out a hand. She steps back, darting out of his grasp.

“What? I’m not – No.” It was already written. Her mind runs, whirs, trips over the revelation. She’s being dramatic for nothing. There’s relief but also sheer embarrassment that she overreacted. One text and she immediately drives to his place to bring him his things?

She clears her throat and casually throws out, “I just thought you’d might like your stuff back, dude.”

“You thought it was over and you come to see me in a panic. Why, Darcy?” Bucky’s voice, deep and smooth, is also pleading.

“I don’t need the clutter,” she replies, and if she sounds a little shaky she hopes he doesn’t notice. “I’m doing the minimalist thing now or whatever.”

Bucky slowly shakes his head. “Try again.”

She’s irked that he won’t let this go. It’s obviously all one big misunderstanding. If only he lets this go, she can drive back home and everything can go back to being the same tomorrow. Why can’t he just let it go?

She closes her eyes trying to regain her composure and takes a deep breath. When she opens them, she can’t help her sharp inhale at the way he’s looking at her. Bucky’s eyes are bright like he’s memorizing every inch of her face.

His gaze is intense, searching. The last time he looked at her like this, like she’s the only other person in the world for him, they were sitting by the Pacific Ocean and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She averts her own gaze away from the weight of his. Bucky reaches towards her again and she’s rooted to the spot, she can’t seem to walk away from him not this time. But instead of touching her, he grasps the wrist of the jacket. The sleeve hangs limply between them like a lifeline.

“Darcy.”

She remains stubbornly silent, holds herself tensely still.

Tug.

And she’s still holding the hoodie in front of her like it’s a shield, so at his (not-so-surprisingly strong) movement she’s forced to take a step closer to him.

Close enough now to see the individual dark hairs of the stubble that shades his jawline still. Close enough that he’s looming over her little, their height difference even more apparent at this nearness.

“Tell me why,” Bucky demands, voice raspy but firm.

Pull.

Another step, almost a stumble this time, even closer.

She can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, hear his breaths. The air between them shifts, becomes charged as if before a storm.

“Please.” He’s tilting his head towards her and this time his voice is a near whisper. She has to strain to hear it. “Please say something. Please tell me I’m not imaginin’ – that I’m not just – ”

And there’s something in the way that he’s looking at her – desperation, _longing_. So familiar because that’s what she feels too.

Suddenly she’s tired, so tired, of trying to hold up this wall between them.

“Bucky.” She almost falters over his name.

She realizes that it’s taking all of his effort to keep still and wait patiently for her.

With that thought she can’t help the words that spill from her.

“Bucky, I don’t want to pretend anymore. I – I can’t.  I can’t pretend that when we’re together I’m only doing my job. Or that I don’t miss you when you’re not near me. Or that I don’t wear your stupid hoodie ‘cause it smells like you. Or that I don’t wonder what it’s like to kiss you, _really_ kiss you, without the cameras and the press and the people watching.  I can’t pretend to be your girlfriend anymore. Not when I want, I want _so_ much - ”

“Darcy,” he breathes, looking at her with something like wonder. He takes the maroon bundle from her hands and throws it over his shoulder carelessly, not even giving it a glance as it flutters to the floor. He brings his hands, flesh and metal, to cradle her face gently between them. It’s then, when he’s so close to her, and she gathers her courage to look into his eyes that she realizes that he’s _happy_ \- happy like it’s Christmas morning and his birthday and the Oscars all at once.

“Somehow, among…all of this, I realized,” Bucky starts, quiet and serious. “I realized how much you meant – _mean –_ to me. This stupid, goddamn contract can get fucked for all I care. I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

He runs his thumb along the curve of her bottom lip and goosebumps bloom all over her arms. “I just want _you,_ Darcy _._ ”

And with that he surges forward to mold his lips to hers, swallowing her gasp.

The kiss is unlike any of the other ones they’ve shared. For as long as they’ve been doing this, Darcy can only count on one hand the number of times they’ve kissed and they’ve all been quick, closed-mouthed pecks for the benefit of an audience. But this, this was Bucky moving his plush lips against hers and one of his hands tangled in her hair like he can’t get her close enough. She can’t help a soft sound from escaping when his tongue laves against her lips. She opens her mouth to him, and the first touch of his tongue against hers sends a jolt of heat to her core. She deepens the kiss, tasting the faint smokiness his earlier drink and a warmth that’s all him. His tongue is slick as it caresses hers, and she presses herself even closer to him as lust pools inside her. Her hands are fisted in his t-shirt and she thinks she can feel his heart thumping rapidly beneath it. Or maybe that’s her own heartbeat singing in her ears.

They pull apart, still only inches away from each other both of them unwilling to let the other one go just yet. They’re both panting heavily and Darcy unclenches her hands from his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles she put there. Bucky leans down to plant little open mouthed kisses along her jaw, then her neck, the slight scratch of his scruff alighting little pings of pleasure inside her. He nuzzles at her for a bit, gently nudging his nose along the shell of her ear.

“Darcy?” Bucky’s voice is deep, ragged.

She hums in answer, thoroughly distracted by his closeness and the way his metal hand presses into her lower back.

“…Thanks for bringin’ my stuff back.”

It takes a bit for brain to catch up to his snark but when it does she lets out an indignant huff before pulling back and exclaiming, “Ugh, _Bucky_!”

She bats at his shoulder but he’s too quick for her. He catches her wrist and hauls her back to him laughing, bending down to press a chaste kiss at her cheek.

“Yeah, yeah. But you still like me, dontcha darlin’?”

He walks them backwards to the couch and pulls her down to sit astride him.

“Maybe,” Darcy says even as she mirrors the silly, goofy grin he sports. She can’t quite believe this is happening. Her eyes rove over his face, heart soaring, and she feels as if her joy is about to burst out of her. She brushes locks of hair away from his face and tips her head down to press her lips to the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, to that dimple in his chin, just because she wants to and she _can_ now - she’s _allowed._

Bucky is looking at her with the same sort of giddiness as he slides his hands up her back. It’s a familiar expression and she wonders how she’s never noticed before, the looks of adoration he gives her. Maybe she’d just never let herself to notice. The neck of her t-shirt has fallen down a bit and Bucky takes the opportunity to rest his scruffy cheek against her collarbone.

“ _Want you_ ,” he murmurs into her skin and she shivers. He pulls back to gaze at her with dark eyes before bringing his lips up to meet hers in a fierce, hard kiss. His tongue drives insistently against hers and she clenches her thighs reflexively, drawing a moan from them both. She’s got one hand clutching at his shoulder and the other holding on to the back of the sofa for dear life as she leans over him to return his kiss. When he nips at her lower lip, just this side of painful, Darcy can’t help but roll her hips over him, his erection rubbing against her almost but not enough through the flannel.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from him when she does it again, and he pants hot breath over her cheek. He slides his hands down to grip her thighs as if to steady himself.

Her voice is high and breathy when she asks, “You got a bed in this place or are we gonna have to ruin this poor couch?”

Bucky blinks dazedly, then a hungry grin slowly emerges on his face.

“Yeah,” he answers hoarsely. “ _Yes._ ”

He brushes his nose against hers then stands all while holding her to him tightly. She only has time for one high-pitched yelp to escape as she realizes he’s going to carry her to his bed.

Their path to his bedroom isn’t exactly direct. He nearly sends both of them sprawling when he hits his shin against the leg of a chair. When she shifts against him to lightly scrape her teeth on the skin under his ear he stops to shove her back against a wall in the hallway, knocking a little breath out of her before grinding against her and making her forget her own name.

When they finally make it to his dimly lit bedroom she’s deposited with a bounce onto his king bed. She toes off her flats and watches, propped up on her elbows, as he crawls towards her making the bed dip.

His insistent kisses press her into the mattress. Finesse is given up in favor of urgency, but she can’t seem to care because he’s stoking that fire in her anyways. He slides his flesh hand beneath her shirt to tease the skin at the waistband of her pants and she shifts and wriggles restlessly beneath him. Slowly, tracing patterns over her stomach, then over her ribs, he finally draws his hand up to cup possessively over a breast.

He’s panting into her shoulder like he’s been running a marathon and she’s not faring any better, having to bite down on her lip to keep some very embarrassing noises from escaping.

Darcy is feeling hot, too constricted and so she shuffles and rearranges herself a bit beneath him and in one movement has flung her shirt off and to the bedroom floor. The cool air on her heated skin feels like a blessing and she sighs happily, sinking back against the pillows.

She’s not wearing anything special. It’s just a black t-shirt bra and quite frankly she’s just thankful she’s wearing matching underwear at all tonight. Still, she can practically _feel_ his eyes roam over her like he could devour her whole.

Before she can say anything, he pulls down the cup of her bra, takes one pink nipple into his mouth and sucks on it like a ripe summer cherry. The sensation goes straight to her pussy and she arches against him with a surprised cry. She revels in the way her mouths at her for several moments until she can gather her brain cells together and make them work enough for her to reach back and unhook her bra. 

The look on his face when he sees her bared breasts is worth it.

“Jesus,” he breathes hoarsely, tracing his hand along the underside of her breast then to the dip in her waist. “You’re so gorgeous.” He makes to lean towards her again but she stops him with a palm to his chest.

She shakes her head, a playful smile forming on her face. “Uh-uh. Now you.”

Bucky grins wickedly and reaches an arm back to pull up on his t-shirt, revealing his chiseled abs, his beautiful chest. Darcy’s mouth nearly waters at the sight. His left arm gleams in the soft glow of the bedroom light and she can’t help but run a hand along his forearm, memorizing the feel and catch of each metallic plate under the pads of her fingers.

She sits up on her knees and with a palm against his chest, pushes Bucky back against the pillows. He goes down with a soft _‘oof’_ and Darcy grins at the sight of him laid beneath her.

“Off,” Darcy commands, tugging at the string of his flannel pants.

Bucky responds by hooking his thumbs into his waistband then nodding at her. “You gonna return the favor?”

She does and with their clothes in a rumpled forgotten pile on the floor, Darcy begins by dotting kisses on his pecs, then in the dips of his abs, feeling his muscles jump and jerk beneath her touch.

She licks her bottom lip in anticipation, barely hearing Bucky’s responding curse, and bends down to take his deliciously thick cock in her mouth.

“W-Wait.” Bucky exhales raggedly with a hand gripping her shoulder.

She looks up in question.

“Ain’t gonna last once you’ve got your mouth on me,” Bucky explains gruffly, pulling her up to him.

He rolls them over so he’s hovering above her. “I tell ya how beautiful you are yet?”

“Yep. You’re not so bad yourself, handsome,” Darcy answers, palming over the soft skin of his bare thigh.

“Always wanted to say - even when it seemed like I shouldn’t,” he confesses, almost timidly.

“You always should from now on.”

He holds himself over her with his right arm while he runs the backs of his silver fingers so reverently, so _lovingly_ over her cheekbone, her throat feels thick with tears.

“This okay?” There’s hesitancy weaved into his words, and she knows that he’s talking about his prosthetic touching her so intimately. She wants him to know that she wants him, all of him, so without breaking their eye contact she turns her head slightly to the side and takes his metal thumb into her mouth. It’s smooth and slightly cool and with suction and tongue she does to his finger what he wouldn’t let her do to his cock. She moves her head just slightly back and forth to slide him in and out of her mouth getting him nice and hot and wet and watches with satisfaction as his eyes widen and become even darker.

“Mm-hmm,” she answers mischievously, hollowing out her cheeks to give a hard suck. He lets out a strangled sort of sound in response, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock and pleasure.  

“Darlin’ you’re gonna be the death of me.” Bucky slips his hand reluctantly away from her and circles her nipple with his thumb, the movement made smooth and slippery from her own saliva.

She pulls his head down and captures his lips with hers, winding her arms about his neck. His kiss lights a fire in her, and she can’t seem to get him close enough even though she’s surrounded by him with his body bracketing hers, resting in his bed and blankets that smell like him.

Bucky pulls away and begins kissing his way down her body, stopping briefly to nose at her navel and to swirl his thumbs over her hipbones. She shifts restlessly beneath him.

Her eyes are shut when she feels his mouth _there_ , licking a wide stripe over her pussy, soft and tentative at first then firmer. His tongue traces patterns around but never on the spot she wants him to be. She wants to groan in frustration but it comes out as a whimper as she feels first one then two of his fingers coax her open. At the slick pump of his fingers and the workings of his mouth, the beginnings of her climax coils in her.

She looks down and nearly comes from the sight alone of his hand holding up her leg, his broad muscled shoulders, and dark head moving between her thighs. Then he curls the two fingers inside of her _just so_ and sucks and swirls his tongue unrelentingly on her clit and she’s there – pleasure coursing a wave through her entire body, clenching around his digits. She arches up off the bed, unable to keep a moan from erupting from her throat, one of her hands clamping tightly into his hair and the other grasping blindly at the bedsheets.

She drops limply backwards, gulping in air, chest heaving. She has to consciously think about unclenching her fingers from poor Bucky’s head before her shaky hand obeys.

He slides up her body, chestnut hair messy and tangled and sticking up in places, looking smug as fuck and she really can’t fault him for it. He’s got a crooked grin on his face, and oh shit, his lips are still shiny. _From her_. Her brain stutters a little at that, her cheeks pinking at the thought. She pulls him close to lick the taste of herself off his lips and he likes that, it seems, because he presses himself against her tighter and she can feel his thick cock pressing into the crease at her thigh.

She reaches down between them and drags her hand along his length, gathering the bead of wetness at his tip and using the slickness to pump him, drawing from him a series of filthy sounding moans.

“Shit,” he curses, after thrusting a few times into her firm grip. “It’s uh, it’s been awhile, I don’t think I’ve got any condoms lying around here.”

“S’okay,” Darcy answers softly after a moment. “IUD. And I’m clean.”

His shoulders sag in visible relief. “Me too.”

When he pushes inside of her, it’s easy and slow, stretching and filling her. He finally bottoms out inside her and she feels so full of him she thinks she can feel sparks zip up her spine to the base of her skull. She urges him forward with her knees on his trim waist and Bucky’s answering roll of his hips has her breath hitching.

“Darcy,” he murmurs hotly into her neck. “Darce, you – you’re – “

“Yeah,” she answers, moving with him. “You too.”

He pumps into her again and again, and it doesn’t take but a moment for her to catch his rhythm to give him the counterpoint. Each time he bottoms out inside her, he’s driving her ever closer to another orgasm, so close she can taste it.

“ _Bucky_ ,” she manages to gasp after a particularly bone-jarring thrust has her inching upwards towards the headboard. “Ohmygod. _Fuck – “_

“Yeah?” Bucky repeats the action and it’s his turn to gasp when she clenches hard around him in response. He reaches his hand down between the two of them where she’s slippery wet and circles her clit in time with the pumping of his hips. She arches her back, baring her neck to him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he growls into her open mouth. “I’ve gotcha.”

He hitches her right leg up, up nearly to her chest and she doesn’t think it was possible but she feels him slot inside her even _deeper_ and he fucks into her at angle that’s just right, just sharp enough. He keeps moving in her and with his cock sliding into her and his fingers gliding over her clit, she _soars_ – her nerves sparking and pleasure, white-hot, combusts inside her once more. She’s vaguely aware that she’s repeating a litany of what could be his name as she comes but she can’t be sure.

And Bucky, Bucky just fucks her through it whispering encouragement into her ear, telling her how beautiful she is, how good she feels around him.

Even as she’s coming down he thrusts into her relentlessly, his movements almost vicious as he chases his own end. He reaches down to cup her ass, to pull her flush against him and he gives several shallow, shaky plunges as he comes. His cock pulses inside her and she’s filled with his slick warmth.

Darcy pulls him down into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, sweeping her palms comfortingly over his back.

They’re both still panting when Bucky drops his head to her shoulder and sags on top of her.

She doesn’t know how many sweaty, sticky minutes pass with the both of them still tangled together before Darcy giggles, despite the movement being a little difficult with his weight on her.

“What?” Bucky lifts his head to look at her with a dopey, dazed sort of smile.

She pushes back damp, shaggy hair from his forehead and grins back. “Think we should high-five?”

Bucky groans, and muffles his laugh on her shoulder. “Gimme a little bit, and I’ll give ya a replay.”

He rolls to his side, kisses her shoulder, and frowns.

“What is it?”

“Gotcha all marked up, darlin’,” he muses, running his fingers over a pink, irritated blotch on her chest.

“Mm? S’all good,” she says, languidly stretching out next to him.

Bucky’s slight grunt sounds unconvinced but he moves them both onto their sides anyways. He fits himself behind her and it’s like the night he spent at her place but a thousand times better. Now she can let herself enjoy the weight of his thigh over hers, how solid and good his chest feels pressed up against her back.

“Hey. Why’d you move out of downtown?” she asks, once her heart is beating at a steadier pace.

“Didn’t,” he answers sleepily. “Came up here to take a look at a script. Rogers’ new upstairs neighbor plays the bassoon for the orchestra. Rehearses there too. I needed some quiet.” Bucky reaches down for the sheet rumpled at the foot of the bed and pulls it up to drape over them both.

“Hmmm,” Darcy answers, feeling his contagious drowsiness. She can feel the tell-tale trickle between her thighs but she can’t bring herself to care with Bucky’s left arm heavily banded around her middle, his metal fingers soothingly brushing patterns over her lower belly.

Eventually the man behind her overheats her enough to rouse her from a doze. She rises from the bed and picks up his t-shirt from the floor to slip it over her head.

When she looks back at him, Bucky’s on his side resting his weight on one elbow and allowing the sheet to fall dangerously low on his hips. He watches her with a look that makes her toes curl into the area rug and a flush to color her cheeks.

“Hell yeah. You should wear my shirts and look just like this all the time,” he informs her with a smirk.

“And you should wear that sheet all the time,” Darcy counters saucily, before ducking into the bathroom.

After a detour into the living room to retrieve her phone from her purse, she rejoins Bucky on the bed. He glances at the phone in her hands with a raised eyebrow.

“Bored already?”

Darcy huffs. “No. I need to tell Clint to lay off on Phase 3.”

Bucky picks up his own phone from the bedside table then drapes an arm around her shoulder hugging her tighter to him. She snuggles into his side and sighs contentedly when he kisses her temple.

“How about…‘Phase 3 no longer needed due to the greatest goddamn sex of my life’?”

Darcy rolls her eyes. Well, it’s _true_ but something tells her Clint doesn’t need to know the details about her sex life.

In the end, she decides that the best way to do it is to be as professional as possible and rapidly types out a message.

 

**Darcy:** Clint - Bucky and I have decided to pursue a personal relationship beyond the bounds of the agreement. There will be no need for Phase 3 in the foreseeable future. Thanks. Darcy.

 

Clint’s response is not so professional.

**Clint:** HAHAHAAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHA

**Clint:** I FUCKNG KNEW IT

 

Then ten seconds later

**Clint:** Rogers u owe me 200 $$ pay upppp

**Clint:** OhH SHIT WRONG NUMBER SRY DARCE DON’T FIRE ME ILU BABE

 

Bucky phone pings next and he smirks before tilting the screen to show her Natasha’s answer. A simple, one-word response.

**Natasha:** Good.

 

“Waaait, wait wait wait,” Darcy’s remaining brain cells not lulled by great sex manages to cobble together a thought. “Natasha was the one who told me about Phase 3,” she says to Bucky.

“Yeah?”

“…Do you think this whole ‘we have a statement prepared’ thing was a nudge from her?”

“Jesus Christ. That’s entirely possible.” He runs a hand shyly over the back of his neck and sighs. “I wasn’t uh, exactly subtle about you.”

Darcy narrows her eyes and replays her memories of interactions with the pants-wettingly scary woman.

“Holy. Shit. Was that lunch supposed to be a shovel talk?!”

“Huh. That was why Barton wanted me to grab a beer with him?”

Positively squirming in embarrassment, Darcy throws her phone down, and covers her face with her hands.

“I can’t believe they knew before us. And bet on us! Bucky, our friends are huge jerkfaces!”

“You tell Clint that whatever money he won he gives to us,” Bucky insists, bringing her hands away from her face. “We did all the work.”

“We did, didn’t we? Oh my god, do you think Clint and Natasha like, _plotted_ for us?!

“Maybe… Yes. Now, Darce. Why d’ya got me talkin’ about other people in our bed -” Bucky croons in a voice like honey. He slowly slides the bedsheet off her body and gives her a heated look. “When I have plenty better things to do with my mouth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I increased the chapter count! An epilogue is coming to you within the next week because I can’t let these two beautiful goobers go just yet!
> 
> \- So I was (am) super excited but very, very nervous about this chapter. Please let me know if you liked it? <3 <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again...NSFW :)

_Six months later…_

 

Darcy wakes up well into the afternoon, kicking off her 500-thread count sheets.

Really, sometimes she wonders why she should sleep with sheets and a blanket at all what with the human furnace she now has regularly keeping her company in bed. At her movement, said human furnace also kicks off his side of the sheets, rolling onto his other side mumbling something about “ _bring more ammooo_ ” into the pillow. She bites back her laughter and resolves to tell Bucky later what his intense filming and training schedule has done.

Darcy pads sleepily to her kitchen, clad in her camisole and underwear and the cool air of her apartment is a relief after the too-warm bed. She nearly trips over a pair of Bucky’s running shoes on the way, so she blows out an exasperated breath and sets them on the shoe rack.

Both of them are now unconcerned with making appearances together, and so Bucky had moved back to his bungalow in the Hills. Each of them spent lengthy amounts of time at the others’ place instead of commuting back and forth. If she’d thought for one minute that Bucky might do the stereotypical ‘guy thing’ and bristle at having her things show up at his house she might have been surprised. He merely emptied out a drawer in his dresser for her clothes, then bought her a toothbrush and a set of her favorite body washes to keep in his shower. For her part, she shoved her clothes to one side of the closet to make room for his and lets him use her blender to make his gross post-workout kale/protein sludges.

Even though morning has come and gone, she does her morning ritual of making her coffee and checking her e-mail. She sips from her mug resting with her hip against the countertop of the kitchen island. On her tablet, she browses through her usual morning news sites then opens her e-mail.

Clint has linked her to an article, writing only “darce ur face lol” in the subject line.

She clicks on the link.

“Oh god,” Darcy groans, reading the headline. “Bucky, I’m gonna freakin’ kill you!” she declares under her breath.

“Why’s that, darlin’?” comes his voice from behind her and she startles, nearly spilling her coffee. Bucky winds one arm around her middle while so very helpfully taking the mug from her hand. He then proceeds to drink her coffee. He’s lucky he’s cute.

“ _This_ is why,” Darcy answers shoving the tablet in front of his face.

_“Trouble in Paradise for Bucky and Darcy?_ By Christine Everheart,” Bucky reads aloud. He rolls his eyes, and sips at the mug. “So _now_ the press thinks we’re on the outs, huh? Shows what they know.”

“Not just that. This,” Darcy says, scrolling up to the paparazzi photos.

Over an article no doubt riddled with untruths and exaggerations, are a series of photos of Bucky and Darcy from the weekend when they went to a local food fest. There are close ups on Darcy who is glaring and frowning at Bucky behind his back.

Bucky lets out a bark of laughter. “Adorable,” he says, ducking down to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Not funny!” Darcy exclaims, even as she snuggles back into his arms. “That was your fault anyways!”

“My fault?! How?”

“ _You_ tricked me into trying that gelato!”

“…My exact words were, ‘Here, try some of this gelato’. There was no tricking!”

“It was lavender-licorice flavored! It was vile!” Darcy sighs at the blurry yet still unflattering close-ups of her scrunched up face and slightly sunburned nose. She sets the tablet on the counter and pushes it out of her sight.

“You said you liked it.” 

“Yeah, to the lady who made it with milk from her own cows! I can’t tell a small-business owner that her product tastes like Satan’s own potpourri! And it’s not my fault I have Resting Bitch Face, either,” Darcy grumps taking her mug back and finishing the rest of the coffee. Bucky gently takes the mug from her hands and nudges it away.

He sighs, tightening his arms around her then turning her to face him. “Your face,” he tells her, dotting soft little kisses to the apples of her cheeks. “Is beautiful and gorgeous and I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Darcy returns, still feeling the bubbly giddiness at the newness of saying it. Two weeks ago, Bucky had lobbed the confession at her when she was bleary and sleepy in the morning. She smiles at the memory.

 

_(Bucky had to meet his trainers at the gym at 7am sharp for weight training and stunt rehearsal. Darcy thought bringing back medieval torture like the Rack sounded more appealing and told him so as she nestled further into his side of the bed, still toasty from his warmth._

_“Be back soon,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the corner of her lazy smile. He made his way to the door, adjusting his hold on his gym bag. “I love you.”_

_Darcy sighed and replied a little drowsily but automatically, “I love you, too.” There was a pause then she blinked herself out of the haze of sleep, sitting straight up in bed squinting blearily at him._

_She pointed to him accusingly. “Wait. That’s the first time you’ve said that to me!”_

_“Uh-huh,” he confirmed, arms crossed over his chest and leaning casually against the doorframe. He beamed at her like the cat that found an entire tree full of canaries._

_“That’s the first time I’ve said that to you!”_

_“Yep.”_

_“Bucky Barnes, get your beautiful ass back inside this room right now.”_

_“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. He dropped his bag to the floor with a thump, kicked the door shut behind him, and sauntered back to bed where she proceeded to make him very, very late for training that day.)_

 

 

 

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

He clutches her waist and lifts, sitting her on the counter. At the added height Darcy takes the opportunity to thread her fingers through Bucky’s recently shorn hair. She likes the new ‘do, it makes him look dashing in an old-timey way.

“You,” she answers softly. She smiles when his dark lashes flutter at the light scratch of her nails on his scalp.

Bucky sucks in a dramatic gasp. “But according to this, we’re fightin’ all the time.” He grips her knees on either side of his waist, pulling her closer and adds, “Don’t worry about it, Darce. You know they can’t sell a fairy tale ending.”

“I know, I know.”

“Wanna know what the best part of our alleged fighting is?”

“What?”

He leans down into her sleep-tangled hair and rumbles lowly into her ear, “The make up sex.”

His fingers dip into the waistband of her underwear. “Lemme make it up to ya, sweetheart? I’ll be real nice, promise.” Bucky grazes his lips against hers as he speaks.

“You’re always real nice,” Darcy replies with a smirk, as she lifts her hips and lets Bucky peel her panties off of her. The scrap of royal blue lace gets caught at her ankle and she kicks it off with a giggle, watching it drift to floor.

Bucky smooths over her thigh with one hand and shoves his own pajama pants and briefs down with the other, crowding into the space between her legs. He reaches down between them to run a finger over her pussy then nudges the blunt head of his hardened cock over her clit, back and forth. She bites down on the corner of her lip. Embarrassingly, his mere closeness and one good “sweetheart” has her slick and ready for him.

“C’mon Bucky, _now_ , ” Darcy insists, leaning back to lie flat against the counter.

“So impatient,” Bucky dips down to murmur over her mouth right before slanting his lips over hers. The sensation of his tongue delving into her mouth at the same time he pushes into her is obscenely good and Darcy revels in the stretch of him as he slides inside her inch by inch. She cups his jaw possessively, feeling the hint of stubble prick the skin of her palm. Then his lips are sliding over hers, softly, gently until a press of her heel into his firm buttcheek has him kissing her harder with a breathless groan.

With his next thrust, he sets a quick, hard pace that has her scrabbling her hands against his back then the countertop for purchase.  He scatters wet open-mouthed kisses on her neck, her shoulder as he ruts into her.

“I love you,” he gasps into her hair. “Love you so much, Darce.”

He keeps surging forward, and she’s got the cool smooth surface at her back and Bucky’s hot weight between her legs and she can barely gather enough air to breathe out, “I love you too, Bucky.”

Sending her a crooked grin, he takes her nipple into his mouth right over her camisole. She cries out when he swirls his tongue over each hardened nub, dampening twin dark spots onto the silk.

He clasps both of her hands in his and draws them over her head. Wrapping his large metal fingers around her crossed wrists, he holds them there in his firm grip.

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as she’s held largely immobile and he continues to fuck into her with sharp, punctuated movements, her breasts bouncing with every snap of his hips against hers. Like this, she’s spread and displayed and stretched out before him and under his gaze she doesn’t think she’s ever felt more beautiful.

The hard, repeated drag of his cock against her g-spot becomes just this side of unbearable and it seems like everything inside her tightens so wonderfully and she can tell she’s gonna come and come hard if only she can – if he lets her  –

“Bucky, _please,_ ” she begs, twisting her wrists in his grasp.

He frees them but tangles the fingers of her left hand with his, clasping it by her head. She trails her fingers down between her legs to rub her clit, her rhythm rougher than she’d usually use on herself to match his pace.

“Shit. Oh, _Jesus_ ,” Bucky grits out between clenched teeth, staring avidly at the place between their bodies where her slim fingers touch and stroke at herself.

She thinks maybe he can see himself too, see himself slick and wide and sliding into her, stretching her around his length. She comes at the thought, her orgasm streaking through her like lightening while she pulses around his cock with a shout.

He follows her over the edge, giving one last sharp thrust before jerking hotly inside of her, his fingers clutching at hers so tightly she gasps. Her head tilts back, thumping against granite as she savors the aftershocks and tremors that run through her body.

They kiss languidly and lazily now that the urgency to have one another is over. Darcy lowers her legs stiffly from his waist, but Bucky makes no move to withdraw from her even as he softens inside of her.

“Mmm, you know what I want now?” she murmurs against his sweaty forehead. ~~~~

“Whassat?”

“Gelato.” She pauses, thinking. “Well, first I wanna disinfect the damn counters, but then gelato.”

She feels the curve of his smile against her shoulder.

“I’m serious! The real kind. Chocolate or something, not licorice.”

“Alright, sweetheart. We’ll do housekeeping and then we’ll go get gelato. Any plans for after that?” Bucky lifts himself up to rest on his elbows above her, a head full of tousled hair, some strands stuck to his face. He grins at her, pleased and sated.

“Don’t you know?” Darcy asks, kissing the tip of his nose then pulling back to look into his bemused blue eyes. “After that is Happily Ever After.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Soooo this was supposed to be a shorter epilogue and pg-13 at most but then kitchen!sex happened. Hopefully, you’re all okay with that <3 Also I know that last line was pure cheesy-fluff and the only thing cheesier and fluffier is possibly [this](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/blue-cheese-souffle-recipe-1917229)
> 
> \- I can’t believe this fic is done! I want to thank every single person who has clicked on the kudos button, left a comment, or liked/reblogged my links on tumblr. Thank you so, so much for taking a chance on not only a fandom newbie but an AU that was also a WIP. I lurked in Darcyland for a bit before gathering up my courage to post and it is so cool to see that you’re all as sweet and nice and funny and hilarious as I thought you would be. You’re all fabulous <3 <3
> 
> \- I have some other fics in the works! Coming up in no particular order are:  
> A Wintershock PWP (with bonus praise kink)  
> A couple fluffy one-shots  
> One with demon!Darcy that’s autumn/Halloween themed (yes, I know it’s the height of summer please let me have this one thing while I deal with this heat/humidity nightmare lol)  
> And call me crazy but I think I’d like to attempt another multiple part story
> 
> \- Find me on tumblr [here](https://sachertortes.tumblr.com/), where I'm trying to be better about posting snippets of WIPs :)


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